Nighttime Demons
by Sentimental Star
Summary: When Colin Pevensie returns from war, things are not as he left them, particularly not between his two sons...-Brotherfic. Book and Moviebased- EDIT: CHAPTER 18 HAS BEEN POSTED!
1. Midnight Musings

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C.S. Lewis and Walden Media.

_**Author's Note 11/18/11:**_ Revisions of this story are underway, although they will be slow to appear. I hope you enjoy this revised version—a few chapters may not change _too _much, but some could change entirely, or completely new chapters may be added. Just wanted to give everyone a head's up ::grins::. Enjoy _Nighttime Demons_ v. 2.0!

_**Dedication:**_ _Rosa Cotton_ and _TimeMage0955_

_**Rating:**_ T

_**Summary:**_ When Colin Pevensie returns from war, things are not as he left them, particularly not between his two sons...(Brotherfic) (Book and Moviebased) (_NO _Slash)

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

_Nighttime Demons_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter One: Midnight Musings_

(Present Time, Peter's P.O.V.)

The dimly lit clock-face on your night-stand reads 1:00 A.M. You toss and turn in your bed, caught in the throes of a nightmare. The far-off explosions of fireworks over the Thames River can still be heard, announcing that the War is over, and the Allies have won.

We would have been out along the Thames's banks, too, watching them set those crackers off. But Lu's gotten sick, and we didn't want to leave her, even though Mum said we could.

I think Su's off with her latest beau, though. She alone of the three of us went out tonight. You and I, we stayed inside with Lucy, talking about Narnia.

So maybe it's just as well Susan isn't here. She doesn't talk with us anymore, and I can see it in your face and in Lucy's tears. It hurts you.

It hurts me, too.

Mum's not told us yet, but I can see it in her eyes. Dad's coming home soon. He doesn't have to fight anymore, now that V-E Day has arrived.

What will he think when he sees us, I wonder? We've all grown so much, and in such different ways. Different, even, from our friends. Eustace and Jill feel it a little, too, I know.

Because that's what Narnia does to you.

We aren't the same frightened children that he left behind when he was drafted to fight in the war. We went through a wardrobe and found ourselves saviors to a magical world on the other side. And we became kings and queens there.

That's what he'll find: two kings and a queen. I'm not sure if Susan counts anymore—she seems to have forgotten Narnia, though I hope not.

I bet you two pounds Dad won't figure out why, though. He would never believe us even if we told him. Mum didn't, just smiled and said she was glad we had found a way to amuse ourselves.

At least he won't be away fighting. But I bet he'll be surprised when we talk to him about battle plans and strategic maneuvers, like we know exactly what we're talking about.

Because we do, Ed. I know I don't have to tell you that.

And maybe he'll be woken up one night by you shouting in your sleep, like he used to be when we were little. But he won't understand this time, because he doesn't know that demons of a very different sort haunt your sleep.

Remember? He always used to laugh when he found us in the same bed the next morning…

_Tbc._


	2. Lightning and Thunder

Disclaimer: I own nothing in this marvelous universe, C

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C.S. Lewis.

_**Rating:**_ T

_**Summary:**_ What do you do when you've lived two lifetimes? What do you do when you fall in love with one life and can never go back? Or so you think...(Book and Moviebased)

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

_Nighttime Demons_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Two: Lightning and Thunder_

(Flashback, Ten Years Ago; Third Person P.O.V.)

The old grandfather clock in the parlor struck twelve midnight. A floorboard creaked outside in the hall. Branches scraped painfully against the window, sounding more like nails than the wooden swords they functioned as in the daytime. Water from the leaky faucet in the upstairs bathroom dripped ever so slowly into the basin.

_Drip…Drip…Drip…_

And the small form buried under a mound of blankets in the too big bed squeezed his eyes tightly shut against the darkness, pulling his comforter up until it covered his entire face up to his mop of raven hair.

_Drip…Drip…Drip…_

At five years old, he was a very imaginative young boy, always creating stories about lions and kings and evil wizards, dragons and ships and battles. He would make a wonderful writer one day, the adults all said.

Such a wonderful imagination, however, could also trick its owner (or perhaps it was not a trick, you'd have to ask a very wise adult about that) into believing that those nighttime sounds were, in fact, something they were not. The creak became a footstep, the scraping branches became claws, and the dripping faucet became dripping blood.

All things one usually found in ghost stories.

That is what the older neighborhood kids said, when they wanted to scare the younger ones: the Pevensie house was haunted, because it was the oldest on the street.

Mr. Pevensie said it was built in 1805.

And, of course, the older neighborhood kids teased the children living in the actual house itself most of all.

Susan laughed at it, said there were no such things as ghosts.

Lucy did not know what ghosts _were_, and when she one day asked her mother, Mrs. Pevensie scolded the older boy who had told her. No one bothered her after that.

Peter just grinned, said that he would fight all the ghosts one-handed.

And Edmund believed the stories, because of all the ones he came up with on his own—just without ghosts.

He usually never showed he was scared of those stories, though. Said that being scared was for babies.

But at night, the ghost stories had a very different power than they did during the day. They became demons instead of dares, dreams instead of tales.

And when the thunderstorm that had been rolling in all day suddenly began with a very _loud _crack of thunder, the five-year-old gave a small shriek of startlement and launched himself out from under the covers, scrambling for his door.

Stumbling over a few toys he had left strewn on the floor, but not stopping, Edmund reached the door of his room just as another massive crash of thunder shook the house. A flash of lightning abruptly lit the room, causing tree, toys, bureau, and bed to cast shadows at odd angles they normally would not have for a brief, flickering second.

It was enough.

As a third crash of thunder sounded and a second flash of lightning sliced through the sky, the five-year-old gave another shriek and jerked open his heavy door with all the power he could muster, darting out into the hall.

There was a fourth crack of thunder, this one again shaking the house, and a high, thin wail Edmund recognized as his three-year-old little sister pierced the air.

He froze then, in the middle of the hall, scared tears leaking down his cheeks. The ghosts could get Lucy! One of the older kids said that lightning woke up the ghosts, even when they weren't supposed to be up!

But he couldn't move. He was too frightened.

Then he heard his mama's voice, hushing Lucy in the grown-ups room where she still slept sometimes.

Good. Mama wouldn't let the ghosts get Lucy.

_CRASH!_

Edmund jumped, giving his own half-choked off cry as thunder once again shook the house, and darted for the doorway on the left, slamming his small body against it. The wooden door swung open, groaning as it went.

_CRASH!_

A sixth crack of thunder split the air and he gave another shriek.

This time there was an answering yelp from the only somewhat larger form on the bed in front of him as Peter bolted upright…and toppled to the floor.

His big brother's second yelp, therefore, was rather muffled as the eight-year-old's covers tumbled on top of him.

Startled, Edmund gave small squeak and stumbled backwards out the door, intending to bolt for their parents' room at the next thunder crash.

He hadn't meant to wake Peter. Usually the other boy was asleep when he came seeking the comfort of his older brother's bed.

But Peter had already heard the squeak, and recognizing it as his younger brother, quickly lurched to his feet and made for the door as yet another crack of thunder shook the house.

When he finally caught his brother, the younger boy's next yell had been covered by the thunder and he was already part way to their parents' room. He grabbed his little brother's waist and swung the struggling five-year-old up into his arms. Trying to dodge the other boy's flailing arms, Peter hissed, "Ed! Eddy! Come on, it's all right."

He winced as the eighth crack of thunder shook the house and his ears were all but screamed into.

Footsteps pounded to the door of their parents' room and the door was wrenched open by their father, who looked…he looked _frightened_!

Peter stared a minute as their father nearly rushed into the hall…before pulling up short when he caught sight of his two sons standing there. He visibly relaxed, casting a concerned glance at the younger of the two who had his head quite firmly buried in his older brother's neck. Behind him, through the open doorway, Peter caught sight of his mother walking up and down her room, gently rocking Lucy in her arms and humming.

"Is he all right?"

Their father's soft question made Peter look back up at him.

Nodding, the eight-year-old adjusted his hold on Edmund with some difficulty, as his brother was just about a head smaller than him. "I have him, Daddy" Peter answered quietly. He gave crooked, sleepy grin. "We'll be alright, won't we, Eddy?" He turned his grin down to the five-year-old.

The darker-haired boy nodded into his big brother's shoulder, his arms creeping up to wrap around Peter's neck. But he didn't say anything, just clung tightly.

The sandy-haired boy shot another grin at their father, catching and adjusting his little brother as Edmund started slipping.

Their father relaxed even more, returning the taller of the two's smile. "Well, make sure he goes to bed, then. His _own_ bed, Peter. He's starting to get too old to share your bed."

Peter's grin turned into a slightly petulant frown. "I know that."

Their father seemed to be working very hard to hide an outright grin. "So you do," he replied warmly, ruffling his older son's hair. "Back to sleep with you two."

"Yes, Daddy," Peter replied as their father lightly squeezed Edmund's trembling shoulder.

Turning, the eight-year-old adjusted his hold on the younger boy once again before he began walking—still carrying his little brother.

Neither of them saw their father hiding a smile as he noticed Peter heading for his own room, rather than Edmund's.

Once they reached his bedroom, Peter carefully placed Edmund back on his feet and turning, shut the door behind him. Shifting, he faced his younger brother again and smiled reassuringly.

The shorter boy looked up at him in surprise, "I don't hafta go back to my room?"

Peter's smile became a grin. "'Course not. Daddy was just saying that. He knows it's all right with Mama if you stay with me. But we have to sleep, okay?" He held his hand out to Edmund.

The five-year-old finally smiled, small, but a smile all the same. "Okay," he whispered, taking his big brother's hand.

"Good," Peter replied, still grinning, and walked them over to the bed.

They picked up the sheets and the blankets on the floor, spreading the covers over the mattress as well as they could. Then the older boy reached down to lift the smaller one onto the bed. "Up you go," he murmured.

Edmund scrambled onto the mattress, scrunching up in a corner to give Peter enough room. The other boy laughed a little. "I'm not _that _big, Ed."

The five-year-old shrugged his tiny shoulders. "You're bigger than me."

Peter smiled again, climbing into the bed himself. Laying down on his pillow, he held up the blankets. "Yes, but if you're there, you'll fall off the bed. Come on." He gestured to the empty spot beside him.

Edmund smiled in return and, crawling over, curled up next to him.

The eight-year-old released the covers and placed a protective arm around his little brother's shoulders, allowing the sheets and the blankets to settle over the two of them. He kept smiling. "There you go. No ghosts can get you here."

Normally (during the day, at least), Edmund would have pouted at that statement. Now, however, he just gave another small smile and nodded, snuggling closer to his big brother.

There was quiet for a while. The thunderstorm seemed to have moved further away, and only an occasional rumble could be heard, none as loud as they had been before.

Just as the older of the two boys began to fall back asleep, a little voice broke through the silence, "Peter?"

"Hmm?" Sleepily.

"You won't let the ghosts get Lucy, right?"

A small smile in the dark. "No."

"Or Susan?"

The smile widened slightly. "No."

"Or Mama and Daddy?"

The smile widened a bit more. "No, silly. Go to sleep. Everyone will be okay. I promise."

"Okay." Whispered.

There was silence for a few more moments, then, "Peter?"

A soft groan. "What?" quiet, and trying not to sound annoyed.

A beat of silence; he suddenly felt tiny arms wrap around his waist and squeeze. "Thank you," it was barely breathed as the five-year-old finally drifted asleep.

The smile stretched all the way across his face as he turned on his side, moving both arms to hug his younger brother back. Dropping a kiss on the dark head just underneath his chin, Peter murmured, "You're welcome, Ed."

(End Flashback)

_Tbc._


	3. A Brother's Burdens

Disclaimer: I own nothing in this marvelous universe; everything belongs to C

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C.S. Lewis.

_**Rating:**_ K/T

_**Summary:**_ What do you do when you've lived two lifetimes? What do you do when you fall in love with one life and can never go back? Or so you think...(Book and Moviebased)

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

_Nighttime Demons_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Three: A Brother's Burdens_

(Present Time, Peter's P.O.V.)

Remember that, Ed? I think that was the first time I actually caught you sneaking into my bedroom.

And Dad did—he laughed, Edmund. Laughed and laughed and laughed. I think he knew all along I was going to let you stay with me that night.

I wonder if he'll laugh now.

You're struggling in your sleep again. What demons haunt you tonight? Is it the Witch again? That Dwarf you told us about?

Or is it something else? The Hag or Dark Island?

I don't like seeing you like this, you know. Anymore than I like seeing you cry.

You don't cry anymore. As people say it should be. But…wouldn't it be better if you did, Ed? Your nightmares aren't pleasant, and you always wake up in a cold sweat afterwards, white as those ghosts you used to be afraid of and trembling just as badly.

There is no thunder tonight. But there are fireworks.

And when the finale explodes over the Channel, you jolt in you sleep.

My hand moves to your forehead as I whisper, "It's all right, Ed. I'm here."

You whimper and toss your head, still asleep. I wince.

"Really, Ed," I murmur, beginning to stroke your hair, "you're safe. I promise."

Finally, you're starting to calm. And you haven't woken. That must be some sort of record.

I usually never avoid waking you.

I sigh.

Your hair is sweat-soaked. I'm not surprised.

Whenever you tell me about your nightmares (and sometimes even when you don't), I can see the pain they cause you. Because you know those dreams actually occurred at one point or another, and although they almost always ended differently, they still cause you to cry out in fear.

I hate that, Ed. Because all I can do is hold you. I can't make the nightmares go away.

You've stopped struggling, and stopped tossing and turning. Your breathing has evened and I can tell the dreams have finished running their course for now.

Blearily, I glance at your bedside clock. It's been ticking away since I first came in here.

Once I focus on the numbers, I can tell the time. One o'clock in the morning. I've been sitting up with you for three hours, ever since you first went to bed.

Mum will probably scold me when she comes in later today. I don't really care right now. You needed me here.

I don't want to wake you, so I'm careful as I lower myself onto the bed beside you. My arm goes around your shoulders and you sigh in your sleep, turning to rest your head against me.

In spite of everything, I smile.

I won't let the ghosts we left behind in Narnia haunt your dreams anymore tonight, Eddy. I promise.

_Tbc._


	4. Welcome Return

Disclaimer: I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C.S. Lewis.

_**Rating:**_ T

_**Summary:**_ What do you do when you've lived two lifetimes? What do you do when you fall in love with one life and can never go back? Or so you think...(Book and Moviebased)

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

_Nighttime Demons_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Four: Welcome Return_

(Seven Hours Later, Edmund's P.O.V)

The sound of curtains being pulled back startles me out of my sleep. I groan and roll over, throwing my arm over my eyes and squinting in the strong sunlight.

"Su, turn off the sun, will you?" I grumble, not looking up at her. "I don't _want_ to go riding today. Honestly, you can take some of the courtiers with you, you know. Or Lu."

There's laughter, but it's not Susan's.

"Edmund Pevensie, flattered as I am that you'd consider me worthy of courtiers, I'm not your sister. Come on," there's a light slap to my leg, "up you get."

I'm startled. Pulling my arm away from my eyes and rolling onto my back, I blink them rapidly to adjust to the sunlight and stop them from watering further.

Mum's standing beside the bed, smiling with her hands on her hips.

Oh. Right. London, not Narnia.

"Morning, Mum," I greet around a yawn.

She's still smiling. Must be joy that the war's over and Dad's coming home. "Good morning, sleepy-heads. And would either of you care to explain why _both_ of you are in the same bed?"

I stare at her, not understanding. What does she mean, both of us? As far as I know I'm the only one here.

There's a low chuckle from my left. Quickly, I roll onto my side and find…

"'Lo, Ed," Peter greets, smiling sleepily and propping himself up on his elbow, face resting on his hand.

I blink and glance down at my shoulder, realizing that his arm's around me. Feeling slightly sheepish, I peek back up at him. "'Lo, Peter."

He starts laughing. Once he's through, he grins at me, "I decided to stay the night." He shrugs and turns serious, voice quiet, as he continues, "You were having nightmares again."

"You didn't have to," I mumble, dropping my eyes from his warm blue ones.

He gives my nose a friendly flick, still grinning. "'Course I did. You know that."

I glance at him again and finally let myself smile, if somewhat shyly. Yes, I did know that—it's how we worked. I watched his back, and he watched my nightmares. He always did. That's just how it was. I can't count the number of times I've woken up to find him sleeping beside me on my bed the next morning.

He hasn't recently, because of going to the university and all, but it's comforting to know that he'll still do it if he feels I need him to.

And I needed him to last night.

Before I can even thank him, however, there is a sudden shriek of joy from Lucy downstairs, "_Daddy_!"

Immediately, Mum pales and bolts for the door, rushing through it and out into the hallway. We can hear her clatter down the stairs. Then…"_Colin_!"

Peter and I exchange wide-eyed, white-faced glances before we practically scramble out of the bed and burst into the hall, very nearly tumbling down the stairs when we come to them.

Peter grabs my wrist and fairly drags me down the steps. "Ed, come on!"

He has a huge grin on his face, and I realize it's been quite sometime since I've last seen him _this_ happy. So I let him pull me into the foyer, a smile tugging on my lips.

He abruptly halts in the center of the downstairs hall and I lightly crash into him from behind. "Pete…?" I begin to ask, but trail off when I look over his shoulder.

I stare. Peter's staring, too.

"Dad…?" I breathe.

Dad? _Dad_!

I feel tears prickling at the back of my eyes.

Because it is. Dad's home—_finally_ home—after the war. He's standing there, just inside the front door which isn't even shut, yet, with Lucy hanging from his neck like she used to when she was little and Mum kissing his face over and over again. He's grinning, even looks like he might start crying.

But he's there. He's alive. He's _real_. And he's home.

He looks up, sees Peter and I standing there, and then the tears start trickling down his cheeks. "My boys," he whispers, and his voice cracks.

But that's all right, because I'm crying, too. Even without looking, I know Peter's the same.

I grin tremulously. "'Lo, Dad," I return softly, nudging Peter forward.

Dad lets Lu down and she bounds over to us, face flushed more from joy than the fever she's had for the past couple of days. "Oh, Peter, you see, you see!" she cries, throwing her arms around his middle and giving him an exuberant hug. At thirteen she still comes only up to his chest.

He manages a wavering grin and releases her with a shuffle of her hair. "I see, goose."

She looks up at him, eyes dancing, and gives him a kiss on the cheek, before darting over to me and hanging onto my arm. Peter looks over his shoulder at me and raises an eyebrow. I can see the tear tracks on his cheeks.

Well aware of my own, I shake my head at him and grin. Peter ought to greet Dad before I do—he's shouldered all of his responsibilities while he was away and I know how much pressure that sometimes put on him. Furthermore, he's dealt with Su, Lu, and I all at our worst moments and yet, still continued loving us and trying to do what was best for us through it all. He deserves this.

His grin widens, and without further hesitation, he strides over to Dad.

Dad catches him up in a huge bear hug, and my own smile grows when I notice it lifts him almost off his feet. But Peter doesn't appear to care and returns the embrace just as tightly.

I feel Lucy hug my arm more closely to her and I glance down, still wearing a grin.

She's smiling just as brightly up at me. "Isn't it wonderful, Ed?"

"'Course it is, squirt," I answer.

She's too happy to frown like she normally does when I call her that. "I'm telling Peter on you," she retorts, but she's so busy grinning that the threat doesn't hold much weight.

It throws me for a loop. Not "I'm telling Mum" or "I'm telling Dad," but "I'm telling Peter." And as I look back at Peter and Dad, I'm suddenly very aware that there's a distinct difference in what I feel when I look at them.

I'm almost deliriously happy Dad's home and I missed him something awful. But Peter…when I look at him, I feel a rush of warmth and affection, just a sense of _home_…that I don't feel when I look at Dad.

And that change unsettles me.

Dad's looking at me now, having released Peter, and I'm not about to pass up a hug from him. Not after he's been gone for five years.

Peter ruffles my hair when he rejoins the two of us, and as I gently disengage myself from Lucy's grip, I shoot him a grin.

Out of the corner of my eye I see him swing Lu up onto his back, and as she puts her arms around his neck, my grin widens even more before I turn to face Dad, fully aware of the tears on my own cheeks as well as his.

When I reach him, he grabs me in his arms much as he did Peter and crushes me in a hug. "Eddy," he whispers.

And I'm too busy burying my face in his shoulder and hugging him back as hard as I can to object to the nickname. I don't even mind that he _has_ lifted me clear off the floor. I simply don't care. I'm too happy to have him back, and to have him _safe_, to mind.

When he finally puts me down, it's several long minutes later. I scrub my tears away and grin at him, before backing up to stand with Peter and Lucy. With his free arm, Peter reaches out and briefly clasps me to his side. We exchange smiles and then he releases me, all three of us turning to look at Dad when he speaks again, voice suspiciously thick, "Well, let me take a look at you all."

Peter grins and lets Lu down, who stands next to him, still flushed and smiling. Dad takes a few steps forward as Mum stands aside and watches, brushing her tears away. When he's standing a meter or so away, he stops and crosses his arms over his chest, carefully looking us over. After a few moments, he shakes his head and smiles. "You've grown," he remarks softly, "but that's to be expected. And grown quite nicely, I might add." He shares a warm look with Mum before turning back and looking over us once again. Then his brow furrows in confusion. "But there's something…different about you, too. I can't quite put a finger on it."

Peter, Lu, and I all trade glances. We know what that "something different" is that's confusing him—Mum noticed it, too, when we first returned from the Professor's house.

The effects of Narnia.

But we aren't going to tell him about it, because although we did tell Mum, she didn't understand. I doubt Dad would, either. Professor Kirke and Aunt Polly are the only adults who understand, and of course, they've been to Narnia themselves.

So when Dad just shrugs, and smiles again, I relax and return it. I know Peter's done the same. And Lucy…well, she hasn't _stopped_ smiling.

"Well, whatever happened, I'm glad to see it," Dad finishes. He closes the distance between us, and kneeling, crushes Lucy, Peter, and I in yet another hug.

We let him, returning it.

It's only as he releases us that he realizes someone's missing. Surprised, he turns to Mum, "Where's Susan?"

Mum, who has joined him, just smiles. "Upstairs sleeping. She should be up in another hour or so—she went out to see the Channel fireworks last night and didn't get back until late. The boys stayed in with Lucy."

He gives Peter and I a pleased smile. "Did you?" When we nod he turns the smile to Lucy, "You're a very lucky girl."

Lu, who Peter has swung onto his back again, returns the grin. "I know."

Dad laughs and straightens up, gaining his feet. "I'll surprise her at breakfast, then." He gives Mum a knowing, mischievous look, "You _are_ making breakfast, Helen?"

Mum laughs as the five of us make our way into the kitchen. "Of course!"

Lord, how good it is to have Dad home.

_Tbc._


	5. A Father's Reflections

Disclaimer: I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C.S. Lewis.

_**Rating:**_ T

_**Summary:**_ What do you do when you've lived two lifetimes? What do you do when you fall in love with one life and can never go back? Or so you think...(Book and Moviebased)

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

_Nighttime Demons_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Five: A Father's Reflections_

(One Week Later, Colin Pevensie's P.O.V.)

Compared to the battlefields of France, with their scent of rotting flesh and human waste, the London train station smells like poesy—even if it is actually lubricant oil and steam. Still, I would choose a hundred train stations over a single battle line.

If nothing else, they would assure me that I am indeed home. Because even after a week of being with my wife and my children, in a familiar house, I can't quite believe it's real. I've spent too many nights languishing for home and a kiss, for a hug or handshake from one I loved, to trust my senses.

Helen thinks that sensation will wear off in time. I dearly hope so. I refuse to miss another day in the life of my children. They have already grown so much as it is. A great deal more than I ever anticipated.

For now, however, I daily have to remind myself I am no longer facing those God-forsaken battlefields with the whistling of torpedoes and the _ratta-tat-tat_ of machine guns. That I am not seeing the emaciated, corpse-like bodies of children scarcely older than my own.

They were so young. So terribly young. Far too young to face the horrors that they did.

I shudder, and pull my light jacket more tightly around my shoulders even though the spring breeze is balmy. Violently, I shake my head, garnering a worried look from my wife beside me.

"It's all right, Helen," I assure her, "just memories."

She frowns lightly, but nods, turning her attention to back to the three of our children who are with us. Gladly, I follow her example.

Peter, Edmund, and Lucy stand several meters away from us on the platform, Peter's bags surrounding them on the ground. He's off to the university again, his spring break having concluded only yesterday. The two younger ones are keeping him occupied as we wait for the train.

Well, Lucy is. Edmund hasn't said much at all today. Not that he's the chatterbox he used to be, before he went off to boarding school, but usually, he at least joins the conversation.

Currently, he's watching Lucy hop back and forth, chatting happily with their older brother. An occasional smile flits across his lips, but today, he appears to be letting Lucy and Peter do all the talking.

I shake my head and chuckle slightly. "Well, Lucy certainly seems to be feeling better."

Helen smiles. "Oh, she most certainly is. I swear, she's been bouncing around the house ever since she was let out of bed. Honestly, I have no idea how Peter and Edmund are able to keep up with her. Susan usually sits and waits until she's calmed down a bit. Those boys, however," she laughs, shaking her own head.

I smile, too, but it fades slightly as my thoughts turn to my eldest daughter. She is out shopping with a female friend of hers today, and bid Peter good-bye this morning at breakfast. I don't believe she saw it, but her siblings seemed rather disappointed, even somewhat hurt, that she did not come with us.

While all four of them are closer than I remember, Susan appears to be drifting away from the other three. And judging from how close those three are, that must be difficult for them indeed.

Was it truly five years ago that all four of them stood on this very same platform with their mother, waving to me as my train left for the sea and the battle-lines on the other side of the Channel?

Peter tried to be strong that day; he had Lucy clinging to his arm, trying to gain what comfort she could from her older brother. But I know how much he hates it when the family is separated, and that was especially true, then. He still tried to put on a brave front, so I pretended not to notice that he had tears on his cheeks.

I still remember telling him, just before I boarded the train, that it was his job to protect the family now, because I wouldn't be there to do it. And I remember the determination in his eyes when he promised he would.

Looking at the three of them now, I can see just how well he kept his promise.

In spite of everything, however, I also remember thinking how terribly young and frightened he looked when I caught sight of him out of a window as the train pulled away.

That frightened child was not the one who greeted me when I returned last week. Can the young man before me even be _considered_ a child anymore?

I look at him and I see, not a brash eighteen-year-old, but an eighteen-year-old who carries the wisdom of years far beyond his own. There is an air about him, a sense of nobility—of…kingliness since I can think of no other word for it—that I do not remember and do not fully understand. And made all the more apparent because he does not seem to realize it himself.

He's confident, too. Far more confident than he has ever been, but without the arrogance that so many others tend to display. No, he is confident with a modesty that is endearing.

The child I remember was painfully unsure, wanting to do what was right and not certain if it was right at all.

There is no longer any trace of that uncertainty. He trusts himself now, and that is a heartening thing to see.

And from the look in the two young ones' eyes, they trust him, too. I fully believe that they would follow him to the ends of the earth without question.

Then there is Susan. The girl I remember was caught in that awkward stage between the budding and the blossoming. She is in full bloom now. A woman deeply in love with life. Perhaps a little _too_ deeply in love.

She lives for the moment, and does not seem to particularly care what the future will bring.

Nonetheless, that in itself is not an entirely unwelcome change. The girl I left behind always had a book within easy reach, and though terribly smart, was somewhat uncomfortable with the social situations she sometimes found herself in.

She, too, has lost that unease, and has matured into a dignified young woman who holds her head high and confident, and is able to draw even the most shy of lads out of their shell.

Then there is Lucy. Little Lucy who is not so little anymore. She was the baby of the family (and in all likelihood, still is), the one everyone felt the need to protect.

In some ways, that perhaps hampered her, for that small child I left behind relied heavily on the support from her older siblings, in particular Peter. And perhaps because of it, tended to be smothered and stifled.

However, the young spitfire who greeted me a week ago clearly had grown by leaps and bounds. Certainly, the support from her siblings is still important, but that readily supplied support seemed to be relied on equally by all four—well, three of them, as I have not yet had the chance to observe Susan with Edmund, Lucy, and Peter for more than a couple of days.

She is a lady in her own right, much like her older sister—albeit without the long string of parties and social gatherings—graceful and childishly wise. Vivacious and resilient, she brings light into any room she enters.

Her brothers love her dearly, and I can never quite conceal a smile when she convinces them to do something with her that under normal circumstances they wouldn't dare.

She has been extraordinarily helpful to her mother, which is perhaps why Helen was so insistent that she stay in bed until she fully recovered from her bout with that fever several days ago.

Like her older sister and oldest brother, Lucy has gained a confidence that I do not remember seeing in the trembling little girl I left on the station platform five years ago. She, as much as she relies on her siblings, can (and will) rely on her own strength now.

And, of course, there is Edmund. It is in him that I see the most change.

I know parents should not favor one child over another, but I have always had a special fondness for him. Perhaps it is because he reminded me of myself at his age. Perhaps it is because he was so very different from his siblings. Or perhaps it is because he used to seek me out whenever he needed to talk or just needed a hug. Whatever the reason, I found myself more attached to him, more even, than I am to Peter.

He is quieter now than he was before. Much quieter. Much more reserved and much graver than I remember him. And he carries himself with a similar nobility to his older brother, and a similar dignity to his older sister, albeit in the more subdued sense.

He, also, is wise—with a wisdom that is hard-earned. I see it in his eyes, and in his bearing. Trapped within the fifteen-year-old body is a mind of long-lived, well-experienced man.

A change which I am at an utter loss to explain.

The most I could get out of he or his siblings was that, apparently, at some point during their stay in the country, he had nearly gotten killed.

Not something a father who has just returned from war wants to hear about his youngest son.

That does not, however, fully explain the change he has gone through. Nor does it explain the changes his siblings went through.

It is, perhaps, an explanation as to why his relationship with his sisters and Peter changed, though. For that is the most wonderful change of all (at least in Edmund).

By the time I was drafted and forced to leave my family, I had seen the first unravelings of the bond he had once shared with Peter. Those two had, at one point, been quite close. When he did not seek me, he sought out Peter. After he began to attend boarding school, he started to distance himself from Peter, and Peter from him. They rarely saw eye to eye, and more often than not, ended up quarreling. According to the letters Helen sent, and those both boys sent, that apparently became a more and more frequent occurrence.

The same went for his relationship with his sisters. Although not as close to them as he was to Peter, he nonetheless had a strong bond with each of them. After returning from his first few months of boarding school, he began to pick on Lucy, for no apparent reason, and began to resist Susan's mothering tendencies with an obstinacy that often ended up hurting her.

Apparently, by the time they reached Professor…Kirke's house, I believe it was, those bonds were unraveling very _fast_.

Whatever happened there, however, caused a complete reversal in the direction the situation had been going.

Not only were the rifts mended, but the newly healed bonds were, apparently, strengthened ten-fold.

I don't think I have ever seen a closer set of siblings. Edmund loves Lucy, and protects her, with the same fierceness Peter does. He loves Susan, and actually appears to enjoy those occasional slips into mothering—although lately they have been fewer, and he has seen less of her. He lets his sisters comfort him now, where before, it was only really Peter, myself, and occasionally Helen.

And Peter…well, I'm not quite sure if there's a way to adequately described their relationship now. He's terribly attached to his older brother, and I honestly believe he would die for him if he had to. Would die for any _one_ of them.

And that is a heartening thing indeed.

They have their quarrels, of course—all siblings do. But they do not doubt one another's love.

"Colin," I feel a hard nudge in my side. "Colin!"

Startled, I snap out of my half-dazed trance, turning to my wife. "Yes?"

She smiles, and appears to be trying very hard not to roll her eyes—an "unbecoming" action for a woman, according to her. "Your son's train is almost ready to leave."

At that moment several sharp whistles sound—the ten minute warning.

I blink. "Oh. Yes, of course."

Helen laughs and takes my arm as we make our way to our three children who are standing in front of an open entrance-door, in the midst of the last passengers milling around the platform.

Lucy is hanging from her oldest brother's neck when we reach them, her toes barely touching the ground as she hugs him. "You had better write, Peter," she is saying. /Or rather/ I think, hiding my smile with my free hand, /threatening./ "I mean it! And none of this, _I've got an enormous exam, but I promise I'll write you after_ nonsense_._ I'm fully aware you have a huge amount of work, but that doesn't excuse you from writing your little sister. Understand?"

Peter laughs, hugging her once more before setting her back on the platform and bowing quite courteously, "Understood, my Sister."

She laughs merrily, lightly swatting his arm, before stepping back to stand next to Edmund.

Helen releases my arm and moves to embrace him. "Since Lucy already did my threatening for me…Have a safe trip, darling. And call me once you are settled in. All right?"

Peter smiles, returning the hug. "I will, Mum," he promises.

She lets him go and stands back slightly, taking his face in her hands and kissing his forehead. Straightening, she smiles in return, "Good man."

And suddenly, in that instant, everything seems bizarrely skewed. A sense that those same words (if not exactly) have been spoken before, but in a different context. I shake my head, bewildered, and shelve it for later contemplation, stepping forward with a smile to grasp his hand and giving it a firm shake, "Well, since your mother already wished you a safe journey…Good luck, son. I expect a full report of your activities along with that letter your sister demanded. I've missed enough of your life as it is."

His smile, still there, softens. Foregoing formalities entirely, he takes a few quick steps forward and envelopes me in a large hug, "Don't worry about it." He tightens his hold briefly and drops his voice, "It's good to have you home, Dad."

Then he steps back, eyes dancing, quirking me another quick smile, before turning to Edmund—who, I realize, appears to be intently studying the ground.

He is no longer smiling when he looks at him, but his eyes are tender and serious as he gazes at his younger brother. "You'll write me if you have anymore nightmares, Ed?"

Edmund, still looking at the ground, nods mutely.

"And you'll write me even if you don't?" Peter continues, keeping his gaze locked steadily on the bowed dark head in front of him.

Edmund finally raises his head, a smile tugging at his lips, and at last speaks, eyes twinkling faintly with amusement, "Of course! What kind of question is that?"

And Peter laughs again, although this time it's softer. "An unnecessary one."

The resulting grin mellows into an affectionate smile as he reaches out to his younger brother and pulls him in for a tight hug, which Edmund gladly returns.

Quietly watching all this from the sidelines, I'm intrigued to note that they do not part with the traditional handshake.

Instead, when Peter pulls away several long moments later, it is with a brief hand on Edmund's cheek and a shared, warm smile between the two of them, both sets of eyes shining.

My heart gives a slight lurch, and I feel…strange as I observe that final exchange.

Then Lucy darts forward again when he takes a few steps back, giving him another hug around the middle—which he returns tightly for a few long seconds before dropping a kiss on her own dark head.

My heart gives another slight lurch.

This time when he releases her, it's to kneel down in front of her, hands on her slender shoulders. His gaze is intent as he meets her eyes. "Take care of yourself, Lu. You just got over a nasty fever. And take care of Ed, too, will you?" He shoots a gentle smile up at Edmund.

Edmund rolls his eyes good-naturedly, putting an arm around Lucy's shoulders, but smiles in return nonetheless.

Lucy nods earnestly, eyes bright. "I will, Peter."

The whistle blows again. And cries of, "All Aboard!" go up around us.

"Best get onto the train, son," Helen says softly.

I can only nod in silent agreement, smiling lightly and trying not to think of the reaction the scenes in front of me have evoked.

Peter stands, still smiling, and picks up his bags. Shooting one last grin at the four of us, he turns and strides swiftly through the entrance onto the train behind him.

The conductor, having waited patiently for our good-byes to finish, tips his hat to us, and climbing aboard, shuts the door behind him.

Three short, sharp whistles. Several chugs. And the train, ever so slowly, begins moving.

A few compartments away from the entrance, a window slips down and Peter leans his upper body out and starts waving, a small smile and tender expression on his face.

"Bye, Peter!" Lucy yells, waving her left arm.

Out of the corner of my eye, as Helen and I wave, I see that Edmund's arm has slipped off her shoulders and she has caught that hand in her own small one.

Her brother's right hand is raised in farewell, and he calls out alongside her, "Take care, Peter!"

They keep waving until the train is out of sight.

Even when it is, even when they drop their arms, neither moves for several seconds, watching the bend where it disappeared.

Then Lucy tugs on Edmund's hand, causing him to glance down at her. She smiles softly at him, and then begins to pull him towards us, "Come on, Ed. You promised me you'd show me how to play cricket, remember?"

He chuckles slightly, allowing her to lead him. "So I did, squirt, so I did."

Lucy pouts and Helen frowns, although for two quite different reasons. "Lucy, are you absolutely certain this is a good idea?" she asks.

Our youngest daughter just grins. "Of course it is, Mum! I've been badgering Ed about it ever since I got out of bed."

Helen sighs, but there's not much else she can object to. In spite of everything, I smile, and remark teasingly, "She has you wrapped around her finger, Edmund."

He rolls his eyes fondly and grins, still allowing Lucy to hold his hand as we set out for the automobile. "Don't I know it."

IOIOIOIOIOI

As we drive back to Finchley, with the two children sitting in the backseat, things aren't quite so light-hearted. "We'll see him again in a month and a half, Ed. You know that," Lucy advises him softly.

I glance back at them in the rear-view mirror, quietly watching the two. Helen's gone to sleep in the front seat, and neither appear to be aware of the fact that I'm looking at them.

Edmund, who has been gazing—rather morosely—out the window, turns to face her, a weak smile flitting across his lips, "I do, Lu. But that won't stop me from missing him."

Lucy says nothing to this, merely snuggles against his side.

I turn back to the road.

_Tbc._


	6. Treasure

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C.S. Lewis.

_**Rating:**_ T

_**Summary:**_ What do you do when you've lived two lifetimes? What do you do when you fall in love with one life and can never go back? Or so you think...(Book and Moviebased)

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

_Nighttime Demons_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Six: Treasure_

(Six Weeks Later, Peter's P.O.V.)

The house is quiet when I sneak in just shy of midnight. Lu and Ed aren't expecting me home yet from the university. It's supposed to be one of the surprises Mum, Dad, and I planned for them. They were told I'm leaving today, instead of yesterday.

Mum's written that Lu's health hasn't been so good recently. That fever she had a while ago has come back.

Dad's written that Ed's had a lot of nightmares since I left. What he doesn't know is that all of us—Edmund, Lucy, me, even Susan—have had frequent nightmares ever since we first returned from Narnia.

You don't go through all we did as kings and queens, and escape unscathed. All of us have the scars to prove it, although if you ask Susan, she'll just pass them off as accidents.

There's good dreams, of course—many, many good dreams. And they often outweigh the bad.

But there are those nights, those days, where something doesn't go quite as planned. Something is just a little bit off, or you aren't feeling particularly good: that's when the nightmares happen.

Ed's going through a rough time now, is all.

We're both awfully fond of Lucy, and since she's sick…He's also written me that exams were atrocious and that he sprained his ankle pretty badly playing cricket.

So no, he's not overly cheerful at this point.

Mum's left the kitchen lights on for me. Her idea is to surprise the two of them at breakfast. Well, Ed at least. I don't think she's letting Lu out of her bed, yet. Although from Lucy's last letter, she sounds like she's doing better.

'Course, Mum won't hear of it 'til she's absolutely sure Lu will be fine.

Between her fever and Ed's sprained ankle, the two of them must be driving Mum and Dad mad. Ed never stayed in the healers' ward in Narnia longer than he had to, and Lu was so energetic that the healers could hardly ever keep her in bed.

Another reason why Mum and Dad wanted me home—to keep them occupied. Not that I mind—much.

But if Ed tries to escape again, I'm tying him to the bed. Or the chair. Or wherever he happens to be sitting at the moment.

And I _refuse_ to chase Lu around the halls. The last time she did that (at Cair Paravel), I only caught up with her when she reached an outdoor balcony on the second level of the castle. She nearly collapsed, and ended up being confined to bed for another week on top of the one she had already.

'Course, Edmund says I'm just as bad, if not worse. But that comment is usually ignored.

My Oxford blazer goes over one of the chairs at the kitchen table. My shoes are already off and near the front door. And my bags are now sitting on the floor of the kitchen. I'll bring them up to my room after I drink a glass of milk…

Good, it's fresh.

I wonder if Su knows I'm home. I know we aren't as close as we used to be, but I have missed her. Almost as much as I've missed Lucy and Edmund.

My glass is almost in the sink when I hear it.

A scream.

I jump…and drop my glass with a clatter. Before I know it, I'm out of the kitchen and at the stairway. Two doors slam open and shut. There are running footsteps in the upstairs corridor.

Another scream, and I'm dashing up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

That's you, Ed, isn't it? Small surprise. You really _haven't_ had it easy, have you?

I'm at the top of the steps now and I can see into your room—the door's partially open. I hear Mum trying to hush you and Dad murmuring, but I can't quite see you three, yet.

Make that four. Figures Lu wouldn't stay put in her bed—she cares about you too much. I nearly collide with her as I skid to a stop in front of the door. She's peeking into your room, wearing her night-robe.

Just as I open my mouth to lightly scold her (she _is_ supposed to be in bed, after all), Dad calls out, "Come in already, sweetheart, we heard your door open!"

Lu jumps and so do I. Quickly, before she notices, I dart backwards into the shadows of the hall.

She slips into your room, not seeing me it seems. As I carefully creep back to the door, you give a slightly hoarse chuckle and do my scolding for me. Mum's, too, I'd imagine. "You're supposed to be in bed, Lu."

I can't see her face when I peer into the room, but from the small grin on yours, I know she's pouting at you. I can even hear it when she speaks, "I'm staying. I'm worried about you."

And neither of us has ever been able to resist that pout. I think only Mum can, really. Maybe Susan. We're going to have to beat other boys off with a stick when Lu gets older.

Mum appears to want some say in the matter, though. A smile I didn't even notice until now grows as I hear the exasperated tone she uses, "Lucy, sweetheart, I'm well aware of how much you care for your brothers, but this really isn't the best idea."

Your own smile grows, Ed, as you listen, too, and then put in, "Let her stay, Mum. It helps." There is gratitude in your eyes as you speak, still directed at Lu.

Dad laughs, then. "Let it go, Helen. You can't win against both of them. I'd hate to see what happens when Peter gets involved."

There is silence, and I'm sure Mum's frowning at him. Carefully, I edge further into your room, but make sure I'm still mostly hidden by the door.

I can see better now. Much better.

Mum's sitting on the left side of your bed, facing you. Dad's sitting at the head of the bed behind you. And Lucy, I see, is laying down with her head in your lap.

You're so pale, Ed. I can see your hands clenched in the sheets from here.

And you're trembling. Very badly, in fact. It seems Lu's presence has calmed you a bit, since you're wearing a small smile despite everything.

I hate to think what you must have been like when you first woke up.

As I watch, Dad reaches out to squeeze your shoulder. "All right there, Edmund?"

You jerk away. I blink in surprise.

Why aren't you letting Dad help you?

"I'm fine," you manage to force out. Your teeth…are they _clenched_?

Your trembling hasn't eased any, and you most certainly are not 'fine,' Ed. I don't believe that, and I'm sure Mum and Dad don't, either.

Dad doesn't look startled. Just sad, and maybe a bit hurt. Can't say I blame him. You used to always go to him when I couldn't—or didn't—comfort you.

Mum then tries to reach out to you. I start.

You just pulled away from her, too. What's going on, Ed?

Mum tries pleading, "Darling, you've been having nightmares for the past three days. How can you possibly be 'fine'? Let us help you."

I can't stop myself from blanching. Three _days_? That's more than usual!

You don't say anything. Just shut your eyes and look away.

Lucy's looking up at you with a worried frown. She clearly knows something Mum and Dad don't. "Edmund," she speaks up softly, "Peter's coming home tomorrow night. You'll be able to see him then, you know. Until then can't you please, please try your best?"

I stare. What have I got to do with anything?

You open your eyes and bow your head, and your dark hair hides your face. "I can try, Lu," whispered, "but I won't promise anything."

That's it. I've had enough.

"Well, you had better promise, Ed," I growl as I stride into your room and over to your bed. "I didn't come home for the summer just to have you fall asleep on me."

My heart twinges when your head jumps up and you look unbearably happy to see me. "Peter!" you cry in relief.

And I have to resist the urge to shut my eyes. Why are you so glad to see me? Was it your nightmare?

I don't get a chance to ask. Lucy practically squeals in delight and launches herself up to hug me. "Peter!"

That can't be good for her health. And certainly not for your ears.

I give her a swift hug in return. "Good to see you, too, goose," I reply fondly, before gently settling her back on the mattress. "Aren't you supposed to be in your _own_ bed?"

She pouts. "_Everyone_ keeps saying that!"

I have to grin, and affectionately ruffle her hair. "Well, it's true."

Lucy just grins back. She's well aware of how her pouts affect me.

My smile softens as I turn it back to you. Sitting on the bed behind you, I wrap my arms around your waist and give you a gentle squeeze. "It's all right, Ed. I'm here."

I shake my head. Just how many times have I told you that? It must be at least a thousand by now.

I expect you to pull away, like you did with Mum and Dad.

You don't.

Instead, you turn around in my arms and return the hug, burying your face in my chest. "I know," you murmur, tightening your grip.

I catch a quick flash of pain on Dad's face before he and Mum stand, quietly making their way out into the hall and shutting the door behind them.

I gaze after them a moment, feeling guilty for no particular reason. Then I turn back to you as you start shaking harder and tighten my own arms.

What changed, Eddy? Why do you only let me and Lu comfort you, and not Mum and Dad?

Lucy's reclaimed her headrest—your lap, as well as mine this time. None of us speak, merely sit there in a comfortable silence for a few minutes.

"I don't understand, Helen!"

That's Dad. Apparently he and Mum are still in the hall, not very far from your room. Their voices are somewhat muffled.

He sounds almost like he's crying. All three of us remain quiet, trying to listen, as he continues, "Why can only Peter comfort him, and Lucy? Was it something I did?"

You shiver slightly, although your tremors have stopped, and clench you hands in my shirt's folds. I don't think you meant to hurt Dad in this way, and certainly not on purpose.

I just wish I knew why.

Mum answers. She sounds upset, too. "Colin, you've just returned after over five years of absence. You've done nothing wrong, but the simple fact is you weren't _there_. You hardly had any say in the matter, but that doesn't stop things from following their natural course. Peter's grown up, so have the other three—_with_ him. Because you weren't there, they turned to him. And something…I don't know…something changed about all four of them when they returned from the countryside four years ago. They're closer than they have ever been, even though Susan is spending more time at her parties…"

There is silence a moment, and Mum's probably shaking her head. I know she's just as bewildered by the changes we went through as Dad was when he returned six weeks ago.

Unlike Dad, however, she's had time to adjust and accept those changes. Dad hasn't.

The silence lengthens, then Dad speaks, voice so quiet we almost can't hear him, "They see him as a protector…don't they?"

I barely manage to restrain myself from starting. What…?

You and Lu exchange a glance, and slowly, twin small smiles grow on your faces.

Those smiles fade as Mum responds, sighing, "Yes, and comforter and confider and a dozen other roles parents and siblings normally take."

My face feels hot. I'm blushing. Really?

You lean your head more fully against my chest, Lucy snuggles further into my lap. I can only gaze at you two in dazed amazement.

I would never have thought…

Dad's voice is something we have never heard before—meek. "I know," whispered, "I saw it in Lucy's and Edmund's eyes when I came home. They love him something fierce. I just didn't want to believe…"

"That is how they are, Colin," Mum replies gently. "It isn't easy to accept, but I'm able to take comfort in it. You will, too, one day."

I smile weakly at Lu, placing a hand on her forehead. Then press a soft kiss to yours. I don't trust myself to speak otherwise.

Mum comes in a few minutes later and I catch a quick glimpse of Dad out in the hallway. He's wiping his cheeks as he heads back to their room.

I glance up at Mum when she stops beside the bed, finally finding my voice, "How's Dad?"

She smiles sadly at me, her eyes warm as she takes in you and Lucy practically sprawled on top of me. "He should be fine in a few days, Peter. Don't worry yourself about it." She turns her smile to you. "You either, Edmund."

You give her a small smile and a slight nod. Then yawn and lean more of your weight on my shoulder. I laugh quietly. "Come on, Ed. Bed."

Mum's own smile widens when she turns it to Lucy. "You, too, young lady. Up you get."

Lucy puts on her best puppy-dog eyes. "Mayn't I stay here? Oh, please, Mummy, please!"

Mum laughs. "You most certainly may not! You are a young lady of thirteen and still quite sick, I might add. Into your own room with you, go on."

Lucy grins, getting up. "Oh, all right." She quickly kisses your cheek and hugs me around my neck, before heading for the door…but not in enough time to avoid the light swat Mum gives her.

As it is, she tosses one last grin over her shoulder before disappearing into the hall.

Mum turns back to the two of us when Lu's gone and smiles again when she notices I've maneuvered both of us to lay down on the mattress. "Not interested in sleeping in your own room, then?" she asks knowingly, eyes twinkling with amusement. Must be a family trait. Lu looks like that occasionally, too.

I shake my head, shifting to curl my arm more tightly around your shoulders. "I'll stay here tonight."

Mum leans down and kisses my forehead. "I'm not surprised."

Straightening, she brushes a hand through your hair, pulling the covers up around us, before turning back to me, still smiling. "Your brother and sisters love you, Peter," she tells me softly, with an intensity in her eyes that I don't quite understand. "Treasure that."

"I do, Mum," I reply quietly as she leaves, turning the lights off and shutting the door behind her. You sigh and shift, already asleep. I smile down at you, heart fit to burst. "I do."

With all my heart.

_Tbc._


	7. Guardian Angels

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C.S. Lewis.

_**Rating:**_ T

_**Summary:**_ What do you do when you've lived two lifetimes? What do you do when you fall in love with one life and can never go back? Or so you think...(Book and Moviebased)

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

_Nighttime Demons_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Seven: Guardian Angels_

(The Following Morning, Edmund's P.O.V.)

Sleepy still, I step into the kitchen downstairs, rubbing at my eyes. The morning sunlight streams into the room and falls across the table where Dad and Lucy are sitting. It appears Lucy is finally allowed out of bed.

Peter is probably still _in_ bed. Well, my bed, anyway…

I give a bleary smile in their general direction, before making my way over to the old-fashioned sink Mum's particularly fond of. She's standing near the more modern one, cooking breakfast.

I can smell it all the way over here: ham and eggs—yum!

Grasping the handle of the old, black iron pump, I pump it until the amount of water I need flows into the basin below its spout, eyeing it with a slight frown.

Before I can even attempt to convince myself to just get it over with, I abruptly find my head dunked under the flow.

It's freezing!

Sputtering, I jerk back…and hear someone laughing.

"_Peter_!" I splutter, grabbing the hand towel hanging over the sink and whipping it in his approximate direction.

I feel him jump aside, still laughing heartily.

Grumbling, I rub my face dry and raise my head to glare at him.

He has an enormous grin on his face and does not look at all repentant.

Groaning, I roll my eyes and whip my towel at him again. This time, I'm able to catch him on his side.

"Hey!" he laughs, dodging and grabbing another one nearby. He whips it at me, catching me on the shoulder.

I grin, and the fight is on. Whipping the towels back and forth, we dance around the kitchen, trying to avoid the random chair and occasional sibling or parent.

In the background, I hear Lucy's clear laughter ringing through the air. In front of me, Peter's smiling so widely I'm surprised his face isn't split in half. I know mine feels like it ought to be.

Finally, breathless and laughing, we tumble into our chairs at the table a few minutes later. When we look up, Mum's standing with her back to the stove, hands on her hips and spatula in hand, looking at us in amused disbelief. There's a smile on her face when she half-scolds, "Honestly, are you five or fifteen?"

I grin at her and jerk my thumb at Peter beside me. "He's neither."

Actually, he's currently laughing too hard to answer.

I roll my eyes and lightly fling the hand towel at him.

He finally stops, although a wide smile still carves his face. Collecting the two swaths of fabric, he stands to his feet and heads over to the sink to wash his face and hands.

I smirk at his back a moment before turning back to Mum. It is good to hear him laughing again.

Mum just shakes her head at me, and smiling, returns to her cooking. She's humming.

Lu's eyes are dancing when I look at her, and I can tell she's thoroughly amused. I quirk another grin at her. "It's his fault."

She starts laughing again.

Dad, however, doesn't. Curious, and slightly apprehensive, I glance at him. "Dad?"

He smiles faintly at me, and I can just make out the hurt that flickers in his eyes.

Memories from last night surge to the front of my mind and I'm obliged to stand; I make my way over to Dad.

Leaning down, I put my arms around his shoulders and hug him.

He starts briefly, but then reaches up to clasp my arms.

When I pull back a few seconds later, I'm pleased to see that he has a full, genuine smile on his face. Looking up at me, he whispers, "Thank you."

With a slight blush, I nod wordlessly.

Mum smiles from where she's filling our plates and gives an approving nod of her own, before resuming her low humming.

When I face the table again, it's to find that Peter has returned and Lucy's wearing a pout. I raise an eyebrow at her, smiling a bit, "Yes?"

She continues pouting, although the look in her eyes is playful. "Aren't you going to hug me, too?" The pout turns to a grin. "Since you're being affectionate and all…"

I laugh and, making my way over to her, willingly oblige.

She's still grinning, long after I reach my chair next to Peter's.

He's also smiling at me, and I cross my arms over my chest, but do not move to sit down. I watch him thoughtfully. "I suppose you're wanting a hug, too."

He shrugs. "Eh, up to you." His smile threatens to widen.

Shaking my head, I decide to do something that will probably shock him. Stooping slightly, I gently grab the back of his head and swiftly press a kiss to his forehead.

He starts and snaps his head back to stare up at me, wide-eyed.

I quickly release him and sit, feeling my face heat up. Out of the corner of my mouth I mutter, "That's for last night."

He doesn't say anything, but the look on his face is good enough for me.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Mum brings it up over breakfast, when all five of us are sitting down and eating. Somewhat. "What would you think of a change of scenery?" she's directed the question at me, but I get the impression she wants Peter's and Lucy's input, as well.

I gaze at her curiously. "What did you have in mind, Mum?"

She shares a smile with Dad before turning back to the three of us, "The seaside."

Three identical grins spread across our faces.

"That'd be fantastic, Mum!" Peter exclaims.

Lucy's practically bouncing in her seat with excitement. "That would be wonderful! We haven't been there in so long!"

She shoots a big grin at me and Peter, and I know she isn't just talking about the London seaside. Cair Paravel had one, too.

Mum and Dad are looking at me, waiting for my verdict. I'm still grinning. "Do you think I'd say no?"

They laugh. "All right, then," Mum says with a smile of her own. "But you'd better start packing after breakfast, we're leaving tomorrow morning."

Peter, Lu, and I exchange smiles before bending over our food and starting to eat in earnest.

IOIOIOIOIOI

(One o'clock That Same Afternoon)

I sigh and lean my head and upper back against one of the taller trees in the garden, my hands in my pockets where I sit on the ground, trying to ignore the dull throb in my ankle. That mock-battle in the kitchen earlier really hadn't been the best idea. While the sprain is mostly healed, it still isn't completely gone, and I'm paying for it now. Although really, I don't mind too much. It had been worth it, to see Peter laughing like that.

I cast a momentary smile toward the center of the garden where I hear Lu and Peter laughing about one funny incident or another. We finished packing for the trip to the seaside within hours of finishing breakfast and apparently, it did nothing to dampen his mood. It's still as cheerful as it was this morning, if not more.

I shake my head, smiling, and look back up at the green leaves overhead.

It's June, and the weather is warm and sunny. The light filters in through the leaves to create moving patterns on the ground.

It's beautiful.

I ought to tell Mum that; she's put a lot of effort into the garden over the past few years. And maybe I ought to drag Dad out here to play some cricket one of these days, like we used to.

It might make them feel better, at least. I know I hurt both of them last night by the way I acted.

I sigh again and lean my forehead against my knees where my arms are resting, remembering the look on Dad's face at breakfast this morning.

I honestly did not mean to hurt them, but it just turned out that way. For as long as I can remember, Peter's been there for me—even when I didn't want him to be. Whether it was ghosts or nightmares or injuries, he always managed to make everything better. It's only since Narnia that I've included the girls in that category, as well.

And Peter is still the one who has the most success. Although Lucy comes in a close second. Susan used to be very good at it, too, when Peter and Lucy couldn't be there or I refused to bother them—generally the second night after an injury or a nightmare when I insisted they go to their own rooms. Susan would stay with me, then, and sit in a chair pulled up to my bedside. Sometimes she would even sing.

I feel another smile tug at my lips. Inevitably, I would wake up the next morning to find not only Susan asleep in her chair, but Peter and Lucy sprawled out around my room as well.

Mum never could quite stop laughing when she found us that way in the morning.

My smile slips. Susan rarely does that anymore, because she's hardly ever home. And in some ways, that hurts more than Peter going off to the university. At least he comes home whenever he can, and writes when he can't.

"You all right, Ed?"

I start slightly and quickly raise my head, in enough time to see Peter settle next to me on the ground under the shade of the tree.

And I have to smile, his presence already relaxing me. It is _so_ good to have him home. "Fine, Peter," I admit truthfully enough. "Where's Lu?"

Peter grins. "Mum called her in a moment ago. She wants her to rest a little bit more. I can only imagine how well that will work."

I laugh. We both know very well just how difficult it is to make her stay in bed. She's just as bad as Peter when it comes to injuries and illness. 'Course, he says the same thing about me.

"Think we should go in, then, just to make sure?" I ask, still smiling.

He leans against the tree's trunk beside me, folding his arms behind his head, and quirks a sidelong grin in my direction. "Nah, let Mum and Dad handle it for now." He turns serious, and the grin fades, leaving him looking slightly troubled. "They need it," he adds softly, almost as an after-thought.

I rest my head on my arms, watching him. "I didn't mean to hurt them like that," I whisper.

He looks at me and smiles a bit. "I know, Eddy."

I frown at him for the childhood nickname, but don't say anything further. He's well aware of my thoughts on the matter. What I don't tell him is that he's the only one who can get away with calling me that. Not even Lucy or Dad use it anymore.

Peter just chuckles and soon enough, I'm grinning again, too. Even when he stops laughing, I keep smiling.

He gives me a confused look for that. "What?"

I shake my head at him, still smiling. "It's good to have you home. I missed you. I know Lucy did as well."

He grunts good-naturedly, freeing up one his arms to put it around my shoulders. He's wearing one of those brilliant smiles of his as he rests his chin lightly on my shoulder. "I'll tell you a secret, Ed…" he whispers, "I missed you and Lu, too. Not to mention Susan."

I sigh. "Silly as it sounds, Peter, I miss Su as well. We barely see her anymore—she's always out at one party or another."

His smile saddens as he shifts to sit upright again. "Not here right now, is she?"

I shake my head. "At a friend's house, spending the night. She's not due back 'til this evening. Sometimes I think she wants nothing to do with us anymore."

Peter shakes his head this time. "That's not true, Ed, and you know it. She still cares about you and Lu as much as she always has. 'Course," he gives a faint smile, "she's more concerned at this point about you finding a proper girl and whether Lucy is old enough to start attending social gatherings."

I blanch. "Peter, I'm only fifteen! And Lu's just turned _thirteen_!"

He shrugs—somewhat uncomfortably.

My eyes narrow slightly. She didn't… "Wait, don't tell me…"

Another uncomfortable shrug. "She's just fussing, Ed."

"Yes, but Peter…_marriage_?" I burst out. "You're only eighteen—and Su's a year younger than you! Why on _earth_ is she worrying about that now?"

His arm is at his side again, and he's running a hand through his hair. "You know Su's never had a head for schooling. Just her books."

I frown thoughtfully. No, she hasn't, even though she loves those books. Which is what confuses me. Susan's terribly smart, and she could do practically whatever she wanted if she only went to a university. But she isn't, and I don't understand why she would waste her time on parties and nylons and make-up.

"Su's not the same anymore, Peter," I sigh and then shake my head, changing the subject somewhat, "What did you reply?"

He gazes out across the garden, and I almost think he isn't going to answer, when he speaks up quietly, "That I'm not interested in it until after graduation. Yes, I've gone on a couple of casual dates. No, I don't have anyone I'm serious about, yet. No, I'm not sure I ever _will_ find someone I'm serious about." He sighs and glances at me, "It's not easy, Ed. She'd have to know about Narnia, too, and as far as I know, aside from Susan, only Lu, Jill, and Aunt Polly have been there. All the chronicles agree with that."

Clearly, he has some issues with it. He almost looks…strained. And that's the last thing he needs.

I can only pat his shoulder. "Buck up. Try not to worry about it."

Peter laughs outright. "Whatever you say, Eddy."

I groan and lightly slap his shoulder. "Shut up, Peter. What's with the 'Eddy,' all of a sudden, anyway?" He's called me that twice already, which is more than I've heard it in the past six _months_.

I'm surprised when he sobers, and a little amused when I see his cheeks faintly color. "Last night," he manages, "why?"

Oh, bother. Bother, bother, bother. I know what he's looking for, but I'm dreadful with speeches and I don't know how to explain without confusing him further.

I glance at him, then promptly look away when I notice he's watching me, feeling my own cheeks heat up.

He's still waiting for an answer.

So I swallow and begin to speak, hoping it'll make sense, "I told you once in Narnia…that you weren't Dad. That you were my big brother. And in some ways, that meant more to me than having a parent ever could. And it's still true, Peter. Probably even more than it was then…" I glance at him, pushing my hair back and still blushing. My voice softens, "Dad's right, you know. I do love you something fierce. You've always been _there_, Peter. Both in Narnia and here. I mean no slight to Dad, and I do love him a great deal, but he doesn't understand. You do. And you're perfectly willing just to sit there if I need you to. Dad's missed five years of our lives—more, if you count Narnia. Now, whenever I have a nightmare, it's like he feels he has to make up for lost time. But he can't, because he has no way of understanding what those nightmares are _about_." I swallow again. "And truthfully, Peter, it's…I'm…more comfortable with you. If that makes sense."

I chance a second glance at him. He's gone awfully still, and looks terribly like he might cry, but his eyes are locked on mine and I think he's following.

Nervously, I shove a hand through my own hair and swallow thickly once more. "I guess…what I'm trying to say…is that I don't need a guardian angel, Peter. Because I have you."

It's then that I break eye contact again, not quite sure I want to see his reaction.

As it turns out, I don't have to worry.

I feel Peter put his arms around me and rest his forehead against mine, holding me close. Several long minutes pass before he even begins to speak, and even then, his voice sounds slightly strangled, "I'm a guardian angel, am I?"

I give a sputtering laugh, shutting my eyes and nodding vigorously. "Oh, yes—the best one that there is. Just ask Lucy."

I open my eyes, blurred slightly with tears, to find that his are open, too, and he's grinning tremulously at me. "I wonder what Aslan would say to that."

A second, somewhat thick and garbled laugh and I put my own arms around his waist, squeezing him. "He'd probably agree with me wholeheartedly."

_Tbc._


	8. Nicknames

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C.S. Lewis.

_**Rating:**_ T

_**Summary:**_ What do you do when you've lived two lifetimes? What do you do when you fall in love with one life and can never go back? Or so you think...(Book and Moviebased)

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

_Nighttime Demons_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Eight: Nicknames_

(Noon the Next Day, Clacton-on-Sea, Peter's P.O.V.)

I'm grinning as I emerge from our automobile, glad to stretch cramped muscles and inhale the fresh, familiar, salty scent of the sea air.

One after the other, all _three_ of my siblings tumble out of the car—even Susan has foregone trying to maintain her ladylike behavior today.

Because here on the seacoast, at Dad's family home, a small part of the old Susan still remains.

Back there, in the city, among all her parties and young men, she can't—or won't—let go of the personality society has imposed on her.

Out here, it's just us.

"Oh, Susan, Susan, let's go look!" Lucy's excited cry comes from the opposite end of the backseat where she's already opened her door and is dragging a not-really-protesting Susan out of the car.

"Lucy _dear_…" she objects half-heartedly, but there's a very distinct tugging at the corners of her lips as she allows our little sister to pull her out of the automobile and towards the cottage.

Edmund—who has been sitting between me and Susan—rolls his eyes fondly after the girls before shooting me a mischievous smirk, sliding out of the car. "Guess Lu's not the only one glad to be here. Your face looks like it's about to split in half."

I laugh as he exits fully and straightens beside me, gently slapping him upside the head.

His grin widens as he lightly rubs the back of it, eyes sparkling.

My own smile grows at seeing that in eyes which had been clouded and weary two nights ago. It's always heartening to see him cheerful after a particularly bad episode. Especially since this one was three nights long.

But I won't dwell on that. Not right now.

Ed chuckles, and I glance at him curiously. Feeling my gaze, he nods in the direction of the cottage. "Think Lu will wear Su out by the day's end?"

I finally turn to see Lucy and Susan have reached the front stoop, Lu still pulling poor Su insistently towards the cottage. Abruptly, she changes tactics and eagerly pushes her through the door, smiling all the way.

Mum and Dad emerge from the car in enough time to see her do so. Dad raises an eyebrow. "Excited…isn't she?" he remarks dryly, eyes twinkling.

Definitely a family trait.

Ed and I exchange grins, before muffling our laughter. "Well, she _has_ been cooped up in Finchley for several days, Dad. And well, you know Lu…" I answer, still wearing a grin.

Edmund muffles his laughter again.

The other eyebrow rises as he looks at us, clearly amused. "Apparently, she's not the only one. Cabin fever, is it?"

I shrug, pulling Ed around to the back of the car with me as Dad joins us and Mum goes after the girls, a small smile on her face. "We're not made for houses," I laugh softly, hefting open the trunk.

"No, we're just made for castles," Edmund mutters, leaning in to grab his and Lucy's suitcases.

I lightly jab him in the ribs with an elbow, my own smile widening, and lean in to grab Susan's and my own.

He just tosses another grin at me over his shoulder, stepping back from the trunk and straightening, holding one suitcase slung over his shoulder and the other in his opposite hand.

Dad glances curiously between us as I move out of the way to stand beside Ed. I chuckle, shaking my head at him. "Old joke."

True enough anyway. Probably not in the way he might imagine, though.

He gives us a bewildered look that nearly sets Edmund off again, although this time he just bites his lip, eyes dancing.

I manage to half-smother my own laugh, gently shoving him towards the cottage with my suitcase. "Come on, you, before you get us _both_ in trouble."

Edmund just snickers while Dad, opting to be amused instead of confused, shakes his head fondly at us and laughs, leaning in to grab his and Mum's suitcases. "Your brother has a point, Ed. Perhaps you'd best do as you're told, hmm?"

That doesn't help much. He loses it, laughing as hard as I was yesterday morning.

Dad's looking bewildered again.

"_Eddy_," I groan playfully. If nothing else, the nickname will shut him up. "Now see what you did?"

It works. "Peter!" he exclaims indignantly, but I notice he doesn't object further. Something else to think on later.

I laugh, switching my suitcase to the hand that's also carrying Susan's, and put my arm around Ed's shoulders to direct him to the cottage. Thank goodness I learned to pack light long ago, or else it might be supper by the time I got him there.

"Well, how else was I supposed to get you moving?" I tease, grinning, as we make our way to the front stoop where Mum's airing out a rug. I vaguely remember it as being the one we put just inside the door.

He rolls his eyes good-naturedly, leveling me with a fondly exasperated glare. "You know, I'm beginning to regret giving that little speech yesterday. I love you dearly, big brother, but you're pushing your luck with childhood nicknames."

Feeling my cheeks heat up slightly, I duck my head so he can't read the emotions on my face.

Ah, yes, "that" speech.

"That" speech is still as fresh in my mind as it was the moment I heard it. And whenever I think about it—and I've thought about it a great deal since he said it—it brings a rush of gratitude and warmth with it.

Dad and Mum may think I'm more confident than I was—and I am, mostly—but there is always one thing I have never been quite certain about, and that is if I'm doing my best by my family.

Mum's assured me a thousand times that I've been wonderful and a terrific help. But so have Lucy, Edmund, and Susan in their own ways.

All the same, it's reassuring to know she thinks so.

My real uncertainty lays in how I'm taking care of my siblings.

Mum says I've helped her practically raise them—and that's truer than she knows—but I don't know if I've helped her raise them _well_. I suppose I may never be completely certain, and I wonder if parents ever really are.

But Ed's speech yesterday went a long way to heal some of those doubts. After all, it's not everyday that your younger brother tells you you're a guardian angel.

And Ed's usually not one for long, sappy speeches. He's more the sort to speak through touch. Before battles began and after they ended, or when wounds healed and illnesses finished their run, the first thing he did was hug all of us, assuring himself physically that we were still alive and still in one piece, or telling us without really saying it, just how much he loved us.

He's fragile that way, and that's perhaps why he's so precious to me.

"Pete?"

I glance up at him, and feel my cheeks redden even more. Edmund's watching me with a smile on his face and affectionate amusement in his eyes. When he speaks again, he's clearly serious but the smile never drops, "Oh, honestly, Peter, I meant every word of it."

I'm slightly thrown and blink at him. "What? That I'm pushing it with nicknames?"

He grins. "Well, that. But I meant yesterday, too."

I shake my head and give him a half-rueful, half-amused grin in return. "I can never get anything past you, can I?"

"No," he informs me cheerfully as we reach the front porch where Mum is still shaking out the rug.

She pauses momentarily and glances up at us with a smile. "Go on inside, you two, and settle in your room. The girls are already exploring theirs. You'd think they'd never seen this place before."

"I think it's been at least six years since we were last here, Mum," I point out with an echoing smile. "Lu was probably only six or seven when we were here last, so she might not remember as much as we do."

Mum wrinkles her nose slightly as she gazes down at the rug she's holding, reminding me strongly of Lucy. "So I see."

I laugh and pull Ed into the cottage as she goes back to shaking out the rug. We hear Dad stop to talk with her, but neither of us are inclined to listen in.

There's a mischievous glint in Edmund's eyes as he shoots a smile at me. "See any abandoned wardrobes?"

"Ed!" I half-scold, half-laugh, dragging him to the stairs at the end of the small hall which splits the cottage in half. And it _is_ a cottage, with only a small kitchenette, a dining area consisting only of a table and chairs, tiny bathroom, small storage cupboard under the stairs, and tiny living room on this floor, and four smaller bedrooms and one bathroom upstairs.

We've mounted the steps at this point, and it's only a short trip to reach the girls' room which is the first on the right.

We poke our heads in to find Lucy chatting happily with Susan. My smile grows. Ed and I aren't the only ones who missed her.

They're arranged on their beds, Lu on her stomach with her chin in her hands and a happy grin on her face, kicking her legs back and forth through the air, and Su sitting towards the head of her bed, leaning comfortably against the headboard.

Lucy looks up as we enter, and hops off the bed to take her suitcase from Edmund. She smiles at him and chirps, "Thanks, Edmund."

He laughs and hands the bag over to her, while I move further into the room and place Susan's against her bed. When she looks up at me, I give something of an exaggerated bow, "For you, milady."

She laughs gaily and lightly slaps my arm. "You're such a _boy_, Peter," she teases.

And as I straighten, I don't know whether to be hurt, confused, or amused by her response. It wasn't exactly the one I expected or hoped for.

I opt for amused.

"But of course," I retort warmly, giving her a rakish grin.

She just smiles and, slipping off her bed, kneels to unlatch the suitcase.

Lucy's already in the process of sorting through her clothes so I give her a small smile (which she returns) and angle my head towards the door, eyes on Edmund. "Come on, Ed, let's leave them to it," I advise, maintaining my smile.

He gives an answering grin and follows me out the threshold.

Just as we enter the hallway, Lucy pokes her head out. "Mum says lunch will be in an hour, you two. We're having it outside."

Edmund ruffles her hair. "We'll remember, squirt."

Lucy just grins and pulls her head back in.

I shoot him an amused look. "Lu's happy, alright. I think that's one of the first times you've gotten away with calling her that."

"Same idea as 'Eddy,' I think," he replies, smiling as we start making our way down to the next room (whose door is really only about five or six paces away from the girls'). "You call her 'goose' and I call her 'squirt,' and we're the only ones she lets call her that."

Now I'm definitely amused, and as we stop in front of the open door to the room, I can't help myself: "I'm the only one who can call you 'Eddy,' is that it?" I jest lightly.

He surprises me by turning serious, although his eyes are still dancing. "Yes," and it's a firm reply.

I can only blink as he enters the bedroom. That's…interesting.

I follow him into the room, leaning against the wall and still holding my bag, quietly watching him as he sets his suitcase on one of the beds and opens it, starting to pull out his clothes.

And it is now that I truly understand he meant every word yesterday. Not even Lu and Dad are allowed to call him "Eddy" anymore, and that says quite a lot.

When he notices I'm still leaning there a few minutes later, he raises an eyebrow at me, "Yes, and just how long are you planning on standing there?"

I shake my head and reply, "As long as it takes for me to figure out why you love me so much."

His eyes are bright as he regards me. "Because you're my brother, Peter," he simply replies, as if that explains everything.

And I suppose to him, it really does.

IOIOIOIOIOI

(Two Hours Later, That Same Day)

I glance away from my book as Edmund shuts his own, and standing, stretches. Rubbing at a crick in his neck, he gives a soft sigh and then crosses his arms, facing out towards sea with a small smile playing at his lips.

When the breeze picks up his dark hair and blows it gently about his face, I catch myself wondering where his crown's got to.

I have to shake my head at that, to clear my thoughts. Although he looks every bit the fellow king I remember, perhaps standing at the prow of the _Splendour Hyaline_ or even the _Dawn Treader_, we aren't in Narnia anymore. Nor have we been for several years.

And as much as it sometimes hurts to remember that, I'm very aware of just how much Narnia has permeated our lives here.

"Where are you off to, Ed?" I ask, making sure to keep my voice low so as not to wake anyone.

Apparently, it's not low enough. Lu, who has been sleeping on the blanket between the two of us (Mum, Dad, and Susan are in deck chairs behind us), stirs and blinks her eyes open partway. "Mmm? Peter? Ed?" she mumbles in sleepy confusion.

Ed quirks his smile at me before kneeling back beside her on the blanket and gently stroking her hair. He keeps his own voice low and soothing, "It's all right, Lu. Go back to sleep. Peter and I are going for a walk."

I raise an eyebrow at that, shutting my book, but don't object.

Lucy gives a small yawn and snuggles further into the blanket, eyes fluttering shut. "Don't forget to say 'hello' to the…the mer-people for me."

I laugh softly, and leaning over, plant a small kiss on her forehead. "We won't, goose," I whisper, pulling back.

She's already asleep.

Glancing up at Edmund, I query, "All right, Ed, where to?"

He smiles warmly at me and straightens, gaining his feet. I stand and slip my sandals on as he puts on his own.

"Just along the surf," he murmurs in reply.

We're off the blanket when someone else suddenly speaks up, voice soft, "Where are you two headed?"

We pause and turn, finding Susan awake and gazing curiously at us.

I smile slightly at her. "For a walk."

"Would you like to come, Su?" Edmund puts in quietly, voice hopeful.

She actually considers it a moment, looking thoughtful as she glances between us. But at last she smiles and shakes her head. "Maybe some other time."

Ed carefully hides his disappointment, wearing a tiny smile and nodding.

I keep my own smile. "All right, then. Tell Mum and Dad, will you? If they ask?"

She's still smiling as she waves us off, going to her book. "Of course."

Gently, I steer Ed away from the blanket and the chairs. Even when we reach the tide-line and start walking, I don't relinquish my grip on his left shoulder—although I do ease my hold as we slow our pace.

I speak up quietly a few moments later, as the tide laps at our feet, "She meant it, you know. It's not like she has any parties she has to attend."

He sighs, shoulders relaxing under my touch. "I know, Peter. It's just…"

I give his shoulder a light squeeze before dropping my hand. "It's all right, Ed, I understand."

He finally smiles at me, relief and affection shining in his eyes. "Yes, somehow you always do."

I blush, remembering he told me that yesterday, too.

We don't say anything for the next few minutes, simply glad to be out and about instead of cooped up inside.

Then Edmund leans down and scoops up a smooth rock, which he begins to toss back and forth between his hands as we walk.

A moment later he breaks the comfortable silence. "You know, there's a reason I dragged you along with me."

I grin at him. "Really? And here I thought you just wanted the company."

He rolls his eyes, still juggling the rock. "Well, there is that. But mostly, I wanted to talk to you."

He's serious. Reaching out, I brush the fringe away from his eyes. "What is it?"

He smiles at the gesture. "Oh, this and that."

It's my turn to roll my eyes now, but I keep smiling. "Obviously. But what about?"

I'm worried when his smile drops.

"Just…Peter, remember the other night? My nightmare?"

How could I forget? He scared me half to death when he started screaming.

But I nod anyway, indicating he should go on.

"That wasn't the only night I had one, you know."

"I know," I admit, "I heard Mum saying you'd had them for the past three days." I swing to face him, halting our progress momentarily. "Why _did_ you have so many, Ed? That's more than usual."

And I don't like it.

Edmund shrugs, looking slightly troubled, as we begin walking again. "I honestly don't know, Peter," he answers tiredly, and I'm obliged to slip my arm around his shoulders again.

He shoots me a grateful look before resuming his talk, "So you know I've been having them a lot lately. You've probably already guessed what some of them were about." His face is very pale.

"The Witch, right?" I ask softly.

He shuts his eyes and gives a tight nod, then opens them again, glancing back at me. "That was the first night. The second night wasn't any better."

"What did you dream about?" I try to keep my voice gentle, but it hurts—it always hurts—to see him like this.

He gives me a pained glance. "Take a wild guess."

I go quiet as I consider that. /It can't be the Witch, he's already mentioned her. I doubt it was anything on the _Dawn Treader_, unless it was that island—what did he and Lu call it—the Dark Island? The Island of Dreams? Something like that…/

I glance at Ed, but his face is still as full of anguish as it ever has been. And slowly, a trickle of cold slips down my neck.

I've seen that look in his eyes before. The last time I remember seeing it was—

My own face pales as I recall just when I saw it and my arm around his shoulders tightens. "The token combat with Miraz," I whisper.

He ducks his head and nods. "Yeah."

"Oh, Ed," I murmur, drawing him closer.

He turns his face away from me, pressing his eyes shut again. But he won't cry.

"And the third?" I dare to ask, keeping my voice soft.

"I don't really remember it," he begins slowly, "but Mum said once that when we were little, the whole family was caught in a train wreck."

He looks back at me and I nod thoughtfully. I only have the vaguest recollection of a jarring sound and then a terrible jolt, and small hands clutching at my shirt—Edmund's hands, now that I think about it. I'm not sure if Lucy was born yet, or if she was a baby still, but that's all I remember.

Ed sighs, interrupting my train of thought. "Then that's what the third one was about. Believe me, it wasn't fun."

I wince slightly. "I'll bet it wasn't," I mutter, once more securing the one-armed hug I have him in.

He releases a small breath and startling me a bit, suddenly turns and buries his face against my neck. I bring us to a halt and stare down at him, more than a little bewildered. "Ed?"

I feel him smile. "See? This is why I'm so comfortable with you," he murmurs.

I'm even more bewildered. "Because I coddle you?"

He laughs. "Because you listen, and _then_ coddle me."

I'm sure my grin is rather lopsided when I speak, "Well, it's nice to know I'm wanted."

Edmund pulls back and levels me with an even gaze. "Trust me, Peter, you are."

There's something in his eyes, a look very similar to the one he was wearing a few moments ago when talking about his second dream.

"Ed, what else is there? You're not telling me something," I lightly scold him.

A small smile flickers across his face. "I was getting to it."

He turns to face the ocean, but does not shrug off the arm I have around him. The wind picks up his hair again and continues lightly tossing it about. The waves are still lapping at our feet.

I wait him out. He'll tell me when he's ready.

I don't have to wait long. "The day after that dream I had about Miraz? I wanted to write you a letter—and nearly did—but Mum reminded me that it would take time for the letter to reach your university. I knew you were coming home soon, so I decided to wait." He flashes another slight smile at me. "'Course, you went and came home a day early. Nice surprise that, by the way."

I smile at him in return, but don't say anything, letting him speak.

He turns back to the sea, expression unreadable. "Anyway...Remember the train station, Peter? Just before we went to Professor Kirke's house for the first time?"

I nod, curious to see where he's going with this. That day was hard. Very hard. We didn't know whether we would see Mum again, and all four of us were terrified in some form or another. But why bring that up?

He glances at me, and I can tell he's carefully weighing his words. "You were looking at those soldiers…weren't you? I was, too."

I feel my face tighten. Bloody hell, he didn't…

"Actually," he amends softly, "I was mostly watching you."

He did.

Edmund touches my free arm, and when I look at him, his face is oddly pained. "Why, Peter?"

My response is cautious. "What has that got to do with anything?"

He shakes his head. "A lot. Peter…" his voice is bordering on faintly pleading.

I huff softly. "Oh, all _right_." I glance down at his hand where it rests on my forearm and swallow, trying to compose myself. When I finally look back up at him, my voice sounds slightly thick, even to my ears, "I know I was only thirteen then, but when I caught sight of that regiment…there was this boy there. And he _was_ only a boy, Ed, scarcely older than seventeen. And I was shocked, to tell you the truth, and not a little dismayed. He was only four years older than I was. And I wondered," I swallow again, "I wondered if I oughtn't be going to war, too."

Apparently, that's not the answer he wanted to hear.

"Thirteen. Peter, you were only _thirteen_!" he bursts out. "_Lucy's_ thirteen! What business did you have worrying about fighting a war at thirteen?"

"Yes, well, as you know you were ten when you first went to war," I point out mildly.

"That was in Narnia. _Narnia_, Peter! War there is _different_ than war here. Not by much, I know, but at least there's swords and shields and mail—not machine guns, gas, or bombers!" He spins away, back towards the ocean, and I'm astonished—and a little relieved—to see him impatiently dash away a few tears.

"Why bring this up, Ed?" I whisper.

He sighs, all the fire going out of him, and once again faces me. Now he simply looks weary. "I'm selfish, you know. When I think about what happened at the train station that day, I'm always glad it wasn't you, but some _other_ boy in that uniform. That it wasn't you who was going off to die, but some _other_ boy that had to face death in the trenches. Maybe even another brother. But as much as I feel guilty for thinking that, I'm also terribly glad that it wasn't you. I know I'm speaking for Lucy and Susan, too."

When he leans into me, resting his head in the crook of my neck, my throat tightens and I can't force anything past the lump that's formed there.

I know now why he brought that incident up, and it breaks my heart.

He's afraid, pure and simple: afraid of losing me, afraid that I'll die. I don't know why I haven't realized it before; especially considering the number of times he's been wounded trying to protect me, and the number of nightmares he's had about me dying. I hadn't thought much of it (no matter how much it hurt), because he's had nightmares of Lucy and Susan dying, too.

I had forgotten that, although he's had those nightmares, most of the time it's me.

There's so much I need to say, that I'm sorry he had to see that, that I'm sorry he's been carrying that memory around with him for the past five years, that he's always had that fear of losing me. I want to tell him I know how he feels, that I feel the exact same way.

But I can't. The words get stuck in my throat.

Instead, I wrap both my arms around him. Pulling him close, I rest my chin on his head and simply hold him, gazing out across the sea and feeling the breeze cool the tears that have started trickling down my cheeks.

He speaks into my shoulder, voice muffled, "I know you were the High King of Narnia, and that had you wanted to, you could have been one of the best soldiers out there—maybe even a general. But you're my _brother_, Peter. And I didn't want my brother going off to fight in a war that was not really anything like the ones he fought in at home. Narnia, I mean."

I respond in the only way I know how at the moment: kissing his forehead, I whisper, "Thanks, Eddy."

_Tbc._


	9. Four Point Star

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C.S. Lewis.

_**Rating:**_ T

_**Summary:**_ What do you do when you've lived two lifetimes? What do you do when you fall in love with one life and can never go back? Or so you think...(Book and Moviebased)

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

_Nighttime Demons_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Nine: Four-Point Star_

(That Same Evening, Clacton-On-Sea, Lucy's P.O.V)

"Oh, where _are_ they?" I wonder aloud, dancing impatiently in place.

Peter and Edmund have been away walking for two hours at this point. I would have gone with them, too, had I not been asleep.

Of course, my brothers would never dream of waking me. That's how they are.

I know I'm the little sister, and they feel obliged to protect me, but really, I've lived nearly two lifetimes by now. We all have, even if Susan tries to make herself believe we didn't.

She's sitting on the porch railing at the moment, dangling her feet in the sand, and it's nice to see her relaxing for once, not fretting over impossible locks of hair that won't curl just right. She's not wearing any make-up, either, and is smiling one of her rare smiles, the ones she used to smile when we were all together—in Narnia, talking about Narnia. One of the smiles that lets you know that somewhere deep down, she still really is Queen Susan the Gentle, Queen Susan of the Horn, and she's smiling at me now. "You know what they're like when they go off exploring, 'Cy."

I grin widely at her. "'Cy" is the nickname that she gave me when all of us were little, and she's the only one that ever uses it. She hasn't used it recently—not even when she's actually been at home—so I'm more than happy to let her call me it now.

Still smiling, I stand up on my tiptoes, trying to see up and down the coastline. "Yes, but Ed's ankle started acting up again yesterday. And the tide's coming in. And I _do_ wish they'd hurry up, because Peter _promised_ we'd go walking after supper, and…"

She cuts me off by laughing. "Lucy, darling, they're _coming_. Be patient."

I feel myself blushing, but I can't stop bouncing around. I want so much to be able to run and splash in the surf and go hunting for shells and gulls' eggs, because I really don't like being cooped up. Which is why I'm so glad Peter told me he'd take me for a walk after supper, and I do hope Ed and Su come, too. It would be so nice to do all that again! Like we used to at Cair Paravel.

I sneak a glance at Susan, stopping the movement of my feet momentarily.

And I hope…I hope we'll be able to talk about Narnia, since she isn't going off to parties and doesn't have to act like everyone expects her to.

When I turn back to face the beach, it's to finally see my errant brothers walking slowly towards us, and I notice Ed's limping slightly.

I sigh, hands on my hips in what Susan once told me was a perfect imitation of Mother. "He never learns, does he?" I mutter, but I'm smiling slightly.

Susan actually grins as she carefully slips off the porch railing. "It's Ed, Lu. Of course he doesn't."

With a laugh, I bound down onto the sand and rush past Susan, who's walking at a more "proper" pace, as she likes to call it. But this time, she doesn't scold me.

So my smile is rather wide when I greet my brothers midway between cottage and water.

Edmund laughs as I practically collide with him, hugging him around his waist. "Whoa there, Lu!" He staggers back a few steps.

Even as Peter puts his arm around his shoulders to steady us, I feel Ed wrap his arms around my own. And I can't help but giggle when the top of my head accidentally bumps his nose.

"Ouch," he mutters ruefully, rubbing it, as I step back.

Peter gives me an amused look, his arm slipping down to Edmund's back to better steady him. I'm almost certain he's spotted Ed's limp, too. But my oldest brother is still watching me, smiling, "Aren't you supposed to be taking it easy, Lu?"

I pout. "But I'm _fine_, Peter."

And it's true. I'm feeling much better than I was a few days ago. I'm no longer dizzy or hot and achy. Mum says I still have a small fever, but I don't _feel_ like I have one. And anyway, I'm not staying in bed a moment longer. It's so cramped, and it's boring. I'd much rather be outside.

My big brother laughs, ruffling my hair with his free hand. "So I see, goose."

And that's the end of it until Susan joins us. She gives me a warm smile that I can't help but return. "You always say you're fine, 'Cy."

"Well, I am," I reply, grinning.

Peter and Edmund have realized what she's called me (and I don't think Su notices) and straighten a bit more, hope quickly flitting across their faces. But there's caution there, too. There's always been caution recently when it comes to talking about Narnia with Susan.

I do wish it weren't necessary, though.

They glance at me, but I shake my head lightly. Susan's in a good mood right now, and I don't want to ruin it. If she's still in a good mood after supper when we go on our walk, then maybe we can talk about Narnia. But right now, at least one other thing needs to be taken care of.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I pout again at Peter and Edmund. "Where _were_ you? We've been waiting for _ages_ and supper's nearly ready."

The boys exchange grins, and secretly, I smile. Works all the time.

Peter turns back to me, and smiling still, holds out something to me with his free hand (his other arm's still supporting Edmund).

Curiously, I glance down at it…and grin. It's a very pretty shell, unbroken and smooth, with little ridges poking up from it's larger end. On the shores of Cair Paravel there were similar shells, but none quite like this one. "Remember what it's called, Lu?" Peter asks me, gently depositing the shell in my hands.

I shake my head, carefully turning it end over end to study it. I know I _ought_ to know what it's called, but the name won't come to me at the moment.

Peter keeps smiling. "Put it to your ear and listen."

So I do.

And I gasp, my smile growing. Feeling my eyes dance I look up at Peter. "I can hear the sea!"

That name…that name, what is it? Something like cornucopia—cornoch—con—"It's a conch shell!" I exclaim happily.

Peter chuckles as I continue to eagerly listen to it. "Yes, Lu, it's a conch shell, and it's yours."

"Thank you, Peter!" I exclaim, throwing myself at him in an exuberant hug, and then thrust it lightly at Susan after I step back. "Su, listen! It captured the sea."

"Captured the sea?" she repeats in great amusement, her own dark eyes dancing. "I'm not sure anyone can capture that." But she puts it to her ear anyway.

A large smile slowly spreads across her face as she listens. After a moment, she lowers it before handing it back to me, eyes overflowing with warm mirth. "Well, that's close enough."

I catch in my breath. For _there _it is: Queen Susan the Gentle in flesh, blood, and smile, no longer merely a social butterfly. "Oh, Susan!" I cry, and without further warning, launch myself at her in much the same way as I had at Peter, and hug her as tightly as I can.

"'Cy, dear, what _is_ the matter?" she asks with a soft laugh, hugging me in return. "I hardly think I've done anything to make you feel you ought to attack me."

I just grin, stepping away. "You came back, Susan, you came back!"

And hopefully, she'll stay. For good.

A puzzled look appears on her face, but still, that old, familiar light is there. "Lucy, darling, I've been here all along."

I just keep grinning.

"By Jove, Su..." Edmund speaks up, voice suspiciously thick. But he doesn't continue, merely shaking his head and smiling.

Peter appears to have noticed, too. "We've missed you," he completes, voice also suspiciously thick.

Susan puts her hands on her hips and cocks her head to the side, smiling bemusedly at us.

Before she can remark on how perfectly silly we're being, however, Mother's voice rings out from the front stoop where she's standing, "Peter! Susan! Edmund! Lucy! Come in, supper's ready!"

"Coming, Mum!" Peter calls back, before grinning at me and Edmund. "And no racing, you two."

"Aw, Peter!" Ed and I complain as the three of us begin to walk back towards the cottage.

And Susan laughs, clear and bright as the summer evening itself.

IOIOIOIOIOI

(Three Hours Later)

"Come on, come on!" I exclaim eagerly, scampering back and forth between the shore three or four feet ahead of us and my siblings who are walking far slower than I'd like.

Edmund I can understand, being as he's managed to irritate his ankle again, and Susan I can understand because one, she's far too "proper" to run after me, and two, because she's taken over Peter's job of supporting Ed.

Peter, however, is being "dignified" again, and if he continues being "dignified" I may just have to tackle him. It's tempting.

He's walking alongside Su, hands folded behind his back. He's also watching me with unconcealed amusement, although there's fondness there, too.

Edmund looks like he'd much rather be running around with me, but Peter made him promise that he'd take it slowly this evening. So far I've managed to escape that mandate, although I won't be surprised if he shepherds me off to bed as soon as we return to the cottage.

That's the funny thing about Daddy coming back from the war. Daddy will always be Daddy, and Peter will always be Peter, but (like Mum's said) Peter's helped raise us for all the five years Daddy's been away. He took over the role that a father's normally expected to play, as well as continued to play the part of big brother. He did that in Narnia, too.

I know Ed has the same type of feeling about Peter and Dad, and I wouldn't be too surprised if the same went for Susan. Even though Daddy's back, and Peter off at the university, whenever Peter's home for summer break or Christmas or any other break, he easily slips into the role that he's played for at least twenty years (counting Narnia). And we let him because we're so used to having him there, and we _like_ having him there.

It's just comforting somehow.

I think Daddy's learning that now, and I know Mum pretty much knows it already.

"'Cy," Susan speaks up warmly (also sounding amused) from where she's supporting Edmund and bringing me out of my thoughts, "you've been running to and fro for the past hour. How on earth do you expect us to keep up with you?"

"I don't," I retort impishly.

"You never do," Ed responds dryly, grinning. And he ought to know, he's had to put up with me since Peter's at Oxford and Su's at her parties most of the time.

I return the grin and open my mouth to counter when he suddenly lets out a half-stifled exclamation of startlement and stumbles forward, automatically putting out his sprained ankle to support himself…and hisses in pain, losing his balance and bringing Susan with him.

Quickly, I dart forward to grab him, even as Peter reaches out to steady Susan.

Normally I'd be able to take Edmund's weight, as well as Susan's, without losing my own balance. But at the last moment, our older sister throws out her arm to regain her poise which brings Peter forward, too.

Before any of us knows quite what's happening, I find myself staggering backwards, teetering, and finally toppling onto the beach with Ed half on top of me and Su winding up in Peter's lap in a rather ungraceful heap.

We just look at each other a moment in the rapidly approaching twilight before bursting into laughter.

And because it feels so good to laugh together like we used to, we keep on doing it.

At last, Peter wipes his eyes as our giggles subside and turns them, dancing, to Edmund. "A bit clumsy there, Ed?"

My fifteen-year-brother scowls lightly, making him look like a petulant five-year-old, and slowly rubs his ankle. But his eyes are equally amused. "Not my fault I've hit a ruddy growth spurt," he growls good-naturedly.

Susan titters as Peter and I grin. Soon after, my smile slips and I cock my head curiously at him, "What was it you tripped over anyway, Ed?"

He bends down to examine the area of sand he's managed to dislodge, still absently rubbing his ankle. "Don't know," he murmurs, before reaching out his other hand and gently plucking a four-pointed shape from the sand and holding it up to catch the last of the sun's dying rays.

Quite suddenly, he grins, and turning to Su, hands whatever-it-is to her. "Here, I think this is best suited for you," he advises her.

Peter leans close as I peer over Edmund's shoulder. "What is it, Su?" our older brother wants to know.

A smile graces Susan's lips as she holds it up herself. "It's a sea star," she answers, shooting another brilliant smile at Ed before going back to examine it. "It's lost its top point, that's all."

"Peter? Susan? Lucy? Edmund?" Mum's voice rings through the night air again.

Peter glances in the direction it's coming from.

"Kids?" Daddy's voice follows soon after. It sounds slightly uncertain. I suppose he's still not quite used to the idea that the best protection any of us could have is actually each other. Or Peter, for that matter.

Our big brother smiles ruefully as he turns back to us. "Time to go in."

Carefully, he extracts himself from under Susan, standing to his feet and brushing off his trousers before offering her a hand up. She takes it and follows suite, still holding onto the starfish.

Then they grin down at us and Peter smirks warmly at Edmund, "Can you stand, O graceful one?"

Ed rolls his eyes and retorts just as warmly, "Shut up, Peter." But he accepts the hand Peter offers him and our older brother helps him to his feet.

He gives a slightly indulgent smile as Peter dusts him off, keeping most of his weight on his one good leg, and, amazingly, doesn't complain once as our brother slips his arm around his back.

Edmund then turns to me, and somewhat sheepishly, holds out his hand for me to take as Peter steadies him. "Sorry about that, Lu. Are you all right?"

I grin at him, taking his hand as he and Susan help me up. "I'm perfectly fine, Ed," and giggle as Su brushes the sand off like Peter did for Edmund.

This time as we head back in the direction of the cottage, Susan's the one in front. Edmund's impressive tumble to the sand hasn't done much good for his ankle, and he's back to wincing whenever he has to put even a little bit of weight on it.

Peter and I are supporting him on either side, although our height difference doesn't seem to hinder him much.

"I don't think you're going anywhere for a few days, Ed," Peter advises him quietly as we follow Susan. They aren't joking around anymore, and from the softness of his voice, I can tell Peter's concerned.

Edmund apparently notices, too. Catching my eyes, he rolls his own fondly and grins at me, before lifting his arm off my shoulders a minute and lightly flicking Peter's nose.

"Hey!" our older brother exclaims indignantly, rubbing his nose, as Ed settles his arm back around my shoulders.

I giggle and Edmund smirks at him. "What? You worry too much."

Peter throws him an exasperated look. "Yes, and usually it's because of you."

I laugh outright this time, remembering just how many times that has been the case. Of course, it's not at all funny when something happens to him, and in Narnia Edmund gave all of us many sleepless nights because he's so bloody protective that he'd sooner die than let any harm come to us. In that respect, he's no different than Peter.

But when everything's over with, and he's healing, the two of them have some of the most spectacular rows.

I've been there for some of those arguments, and usually, they end with Su or I, or both of us, breaking into a fit of laughter.

Susan's dropped back to join us now, and in the fading light, she eyes the two of them with a wide smile as they begin approximately argument five-hundred-and-fifty-two. "What number is this?" she asks me, mirth in her voice, from where she's walking at my side.

I laugh again. "I think somewhere in the five-hundreds range."

She raises an eyebrow, eyes still dancing. "Oh? I thought it was at least nine-hundred."

I'm utterly startled by the flash of anger that abruptly spikes through my mind, and immediately bite back the response that's on my lips. As ridiculous and small a thing as it is, it still hurts. How can she know how many arguments they've had? She hasn't been home! And she certainly hasn't talked about Narnia with us.

Edmund feels me tense under his arm.

Breaking himself off in mid-retort to Peter, he quickly twists to face me, eyeing my face in concern. "Lu?"

And in spite of everything, I have to smile, shunting the anger away. Same old Edmund; I doubt he knows how easily he can calm me. "You two deserve each other," I counter impishly, my grin growing.

Susan's laughter comes from my other side as she remarks, "She's absolutely right."

And because she's joined in our bantering, I have to forgive her. I don't want to stay angry at her tonight, and so I won't.

Edmund's too busy sputtering to be worried anymore. "On whose side are you, anyway?" he's demanded the question of both of us.

Su and I exchange looks, before bursting into another round of laughter.

IOIOIOIOIOI

(Forty-Five Minutes Later)

"But, Peter, I don't _need_ to go to bed!" Ed protests as Peter drags him upstairs.

Peter's reply, faintly muffled, comes to us as the two of them disappear into the bedroom corridor, "What you need, dear brother, is to get off that ankle of yours."

There's an annoyed huff, but whatever else Edmund says is lost as the door to their room shuts.

Daddy, from where he's kneeling on the floor and rolling up the spare bandages, looks up at me as I giggle again and raises an eyebrow, "Are your brothers normally like this?" he asks. "They've been arguing ever since you came through the cottage door half an hour ago."

And I'm reminded that he's only been home for about six weeks at this point, and hasn't recently seen Peter and Edmund when one of them has been injured or sick. Just when I've been sick, and then, neither of them is fussing at the other.

I grin. "Just if one of them has been hurt in some way. Sometimes if they're sick. Well, actually," I cast a considering glance at Susan who is sitting beside me on the couch in the living room and is more closely examining the four-legged sea star Edmund's given her. Feeling the weight of my gaze, she returns it with an amused one of her own. I smile again, turning back to Daddy, "All the time if they're sick." Another giggle escapes. "It's actually quite funny sometimes. They can come up with some of the most creative retorts."

Daddy shakes his head and stands, coming over from the chair where he had Edmund sit and leaning down to kiss my forehead. "It seems I'm doomed to never fully understand the lot of you."

"Don't be so dramatic, Colin," Mum teases him where she's sitting in her rocking chair. "Since when have you been into theatrics?"

Daddy winks at us, making his way over to Mum's chair. "Alas, the day I met you I believe." He sits on one of its arms, warmly gazing down at her. "I thought you the prettiest girl on the block, and merely decided to capture your attention."

Mum laughs. "Decided to act like a clown, you mean." But she's smiling as Daddy leans down to kiss her.

I wrinkle my nose, grinning. "Augh, come on, Susan. Let's head upstairs."

Susan laughs softly and joins me as I stand. Quickly and quietly we make our way out of the living room and to the stairs, leaving our parents still kissing behind us.

Once we reach the upstairs landing, I start heading in the direction of the boys' room to bid them good-night. But Su suddenly lightly grabs my arm in front of our room. "Wait a minute, Lu, let me drop off the sea star first."

I smile and nod, pausing to wait for her as she walks into the room. When we came inside roughly thirty minutes ago, the first thing the four of us did was wash up and get changed into our nightclothes and slippers, so we don't have to worry about that anymore. Peter had been about to go downstairs to grab some bandages to re-wrap Edmund's ankle when Daddy called us all into the living room—well, Ed, anyway. The rest of us simply followed.

As Daddy treated Edmund's ankle, and Peter hovered over his shoulder, Susan and I sat down on the couch and talked with Mum.

Daddy finished about ten minutes ago, and Peter dragged Edmund up here five minutes ago, so now it really _is_ time to head to bed or else he's going to come chasing after us, too.

Susan finally emerges a few minutes later, book in hand, and grins at me.

I laugh quietly and we continue on our path to the boys' bedroom.

When we poke our heads into the room, it's to find Peter gone (likely in the bathroom) and Edmund eyeing his bed with a slight scowl where he's leaning against one of its posts.

Susan raises a delicate eyebrow as we enter, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Did Peter win?" she asks in warm amusement.

Edmund drops his scowl and shifts to face us, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. "Yes, unfortunately."

"And it's about time, too," Peter speaks up from behind us, walking in and rubbing his face dry with a towel, shooting a grin at him.

He by-passes Susan and I on his way to his own bed and, after folding the towel, tosses it neatly onto the mattress.

Edmund sighs, facing the bed again.

But this time I notice something—he doesn't look the least bit pleased, no, but he also looks…"Ed," I speak up, quickly turning to him, "don't you _want_ to go to sleep?"

He gives me a pained look.

Bull's Eye.

Peter now looks up at him, any trace of teasing gone, and eyes concerned. "Ed?"

Edmund hastily turns away from us and instead focuses his eyes on the mattress. He looks completely unhappy with the prospect of sleeping.

I feel my eyes soften and reach out to lightly grip his forearm, giving it a small shake. It takes a moment, but he finally looks back at me. "We'll stay with you," I tell him firmly.

As I figured he would, Edmund blanches. "What? Lucy--!"

I shake my head, smiling, and repeat, "We'll stay with you." Before he has a chance to object further, I turn my smile to Peter and Susan. "Right?"

Peter, his eyes still on Ed (now with understanding flickering through them), gives a quick nod and immediately crosses the room to sit on the bed. "Of course."

I grin and start pulling and prodding my other brother towards the mattress. "There," I state cheekily, "problem solved."

Edmund sinks onto the bed beside Peter, looking a little dazed. "Yes, but Lu--"

I wag my finger at him. "Oh, no you don't. No buts. Down." And I point (rather bossily, I'll admit) at his bed, at the same time raising an eyebrow at Peter.

Our older brother muffles his laughter and, as I tug down the sheets, gently steers Ed to lay down. "You heard her, Ed. And I don't know about you, but I'd much rather survive with all my body intact."

"But--" Edmund continues to try and protest, even as Peter lightly forces him onto his back.

"Ed," he laughs, "just hush." Peter lays down on his stomach alongside Edmund, brushing his hair out of his eyes and smiling tenderly at him. I can see his own soften. "Just hush," he murmurs, "it's all right."

I smile quietly and slip around to the opposite side of Edmund's bed. Hopping onto it, I curl up beside him, my head on his shoulder. When Ed glances at me in surprise, I simply smile at him before looking expectantly at Susan.

Su hasn't left the spot she stopped at when Peter entered the room—about a few feet from the door. When she sees me watching her, she smiles and gives a mock-sigh, "Well, I suppose if I have to…" But her smile's widened, so the three of us know she really is going to stay, and not just because she "has" to.

She turns and walks over to the small armchair in the corner, and somehow manages to drag it over, placing it between Peter's and Edmund's beds. She pulls it up to the side Peter's on and curls up in it, her book in her lap, giving us an amused smile.

"After all," she points out at my questioning look, "I could hardly fit on that bed with all three of you."

Underneath my head, I feel Edmund's shoulders finally relax. "Thank you," he whispers.

I giggle again, dropping a small kiss on his cheek. "You're welcome, silly." I shoot a grin at Peter, who returns it, before lowering his head onto the pillow next to Edmund's as I pull the sheets up over us.

"Anytime, Ed," he murmurs, smiling.

Susan just leans over and places a kiss on Edmund's forehead, before settling back into her chair.

Edmund grins faintly and shifts so that he can lay on his side and hold me, before gently pushing back against Peter's chest. Our big brother grunts good-naturedly and agrees to his wordless request, lacing his arms around Edmund's waist.

I almost don't see Susan's face as I move to curl up against Edmund, but I do, and manage to catch what is probably the most extraordinary look I have ever seen her wear. So much longing that it makes my heart ache.

But then it's gone, and I'm left wondering if I saw it at all.

She smiles when she catches me watching; as the three of us start to drift off, she takes a deep breath…and begins to quietly sing an old lullaby Mum used to sing:

"_Where is the child that hides from dreams?_

_Are they the one buried deep,_

_Under layers of sleep?_

"_Where is the child that hides from the darkness?_

_Are they the one curled there,_

_In familiar, familiar chair?_

"_Where is the child that shivers from the cold?_

_Are they the one wrapped in skin of sheep,_

_By the warm fire that cuts through nighttime bleak?_

"_Where is the child that is safe from care?_

_Are they the one sighing,_

_At midnight flying?_

"_All one, and all the same,_

_And mother's hands are mending._

_All one, and all the same,_

_Sheltered by love unending."_

As I fall asleep, there's a smile on my face.

_Tbc._


	10. Farewell

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C.S. Lewis.

_**Rating:**_ T

_**Summary:**_ What do you do when you've lived two lifetimes? What do you do when you fall in love with one life and can never go back? Or so you think...(Book and Moviebased)

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

_Nighttime Demons_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Ten: Farewell_

(Midnight, Clacton-On-Sea, Susan's P.O.V.)

Two and a half hours have gone by and my brothers and little sister have fallen asleep, leaving me to watch and wish…wish…but no. I can't. I stopped hoping for a miracle two years ago. There is no room for me, anymore.

I knew that, I think, when I came back from America. My siblings…are so _different_ from me, and even though I love them with all my heart…there's just no room.

Oh, for Queen Susan the Gentle there is, but _she _is not _me_. Queen Susan the Gentle was a little girl who had a head full of silly dreams. But those dreams cannot compare to what has been offered me here.

My brothers and sister don't agree with me, though. And I know they never will. They think all that is wonderful and good is wrapped up…in that other place. Or nearly all of it.

They do not understand that I can no longer believe that.

You'd think, wrapped in a warm blanket and curled up in a comfortable armchair with my siblings sleeping peacefully nearby, I would be happy. I should be smiling. I should be falling asleep. I should feel completely and utterly content and safe.

But I can't. I don't.

It hurts, sometimes, to see my siblings like this. To know that they share a closeness that I once had with them.

They don't know how jealous I am, how much I wish things could go back to how they once were.

It's so stupid, and childish, and…and goodness knows what else.

But it still hurts.

I don't know where it changed. I don't know when it changed. All I know is that it did.

We used to be so close, and now…

I was so happy this evening, when we were all together. It was like the rift that had somehow opened between us never existed.

When I listened to that conch shell Peter gave Lucy, it felt like something had fallen back in place. I didn't even know it was missing until I heard that "captured sea," as Lu called it, in the shell. It resonated with something deep inside me, long forgotten until that moment.

And when Ed gave me that sea star, it was just like old times, when we were more at ease, more carefree. Certainly, there was a war going on, but that didn't matter because we were together. We found what happiness and pleasure we could simply because we weren't alone.

I've heard horror stories from my friends in London proper and Bristol, about how, during the evacuations and raids, they were separated from even their siblings.

We were lucky in that respect.

But later, when an apparent rift opened between us, I started wondering if it had been worth it after all. We were so close, and then we were forced so far apart—by what I don't really know—that it started becoming painful.

There are times when I think I see what changed, when I think I understand what happened. I see it sometimes, when they aren't looking.

I see it in Peter, when he comes home or we visit him. He's so different from his fellows, so much older, so much more aware of his actions and their consequences. He never seems awkward or uncertain. He's never arrogant or rude. He's so terribly kind and so terribly courteous. And he's handsome. His disposition only accentuates that. But he doesn't belong. Not here. He's meant for greater things, for someplace that's not…

I see it in Edmund, too, when he's aimlessly wandering a library. Picking up books…and setting them down again because they simply don't have the same appeal they used to. Not in comparison to…to that other place. I see it when he practices fencing or archery, but ever only against imaginary opponents, the rapier and the bow fitted to one of much smaller stature and who is supposed to be much younger in years. But he's not. He seems so much wiser, so much more mature, than a fifteen-year-old ought to be. He doesn't belong here, either. Not in a world where wisdom and justice is so skewed that…

I see it in Lucy, when she's walking down a deserted hallway or street, and by-passes an animal. She always stops, glances around, then squats beside the animal (usually a cat or a dog) and pets it, murmuring wistfully, "I wish you could talk to me, cat." And then I have to snap at her to quit acting so childish. But she doesn't know how much I resent her ability to still be as innocent and pure as she was five years ago. I see it when my little sister reads one of her children's books or mythologies, and stumbles upon a picture of a Faun, Centaur, Naiad, Dryad, or Mer-Person, then looks close to bursting into tears because those beings no longer or never did exist in this place, because she misses…

We all miss it. Every single one of us. And it hurts—it hurts so _much_ sometimes, with an ache that never seems to quite go away.

I see it in myself, too, and I hate it.

I lock those things away, and do not dare release them, throwing myself into the high-class society that exists here. But I don't belong anymore than Peter does, or Edmund, or Lucy.

We aren't _like_ the people in this world, and I no longer remember why, which makes me hate this…this…feeling inside me even more.

I never think about it; I'm not even sure what "it" is anymore.

There are snatches of images sometimes, memories half-remembered: Golden light. Warmth like nothing earthly. Talking animals—talking! Swirls of leaves and petals that take on human form. Ethereal music. A woman with a wand. A being half-man, half-goat. A majestic ship setting out to sea.

But then I look around me, and see none of these things. Just dull, ordinary, strange England.

And the emptiness inside me is unbearable.

It's so much easier to imagine those moments were the make-believe of bored war-time children. So much easier to pretend there is no gaping hole inside me, or yawning chasm between myself and my siblings.

I used to be best friends with Lucy. Now I resent that she is able to keep her faith so effortlessly.

I used to enjoy Edmund's quiet, easy companionship. Now I resent that he can so easily find solace in Peter's and Lucy's presence.

I used to adore Peter. Now I resent that he is so able to maintain what I cannot.

The past is gone. I cannot return to it. To do so would be foolish and naïve. And I am neither a child nor an idiot—I am a young woman.

I haven't forgotten about…those games. I just choose not to remember them as anything _but_ games.

So I will turn away, go back to my make-up and thoughts of parties and gorgeous beaus. I have beauty. I have youth. There is so much open to me that I would be a fool not to pursue it.

And I refuse to be labeled a fool.

I set my jaw and press my lips together, standing to my feet and striding over to the light switch.

That's it then. No going back.

So why are my eyes stinging with tears?

I snap the light off, plunging the room into darkness, and turning, carefully return to the armchair.

Curling up within its confines, I tug a second blanket which had previously been thrown over its back tightly around my shoulders and rest my head against the cushioning.

There, in the dark, I feel the tears run in hot rivulets down my cheeks.

I will not cry again after tonight. Tonight is the last time I will mourn for things long past.

I turn eighteen next month. I am no longer twelve, and I will not entertain these childhood fantasies any longer.

_Tbc._


	11. Acquainted With the Heart

**WARNING:** Keep tissues handy, and beware. This chapter is on the upper end of the **T** rating, perhaps even **M**. In some parts I get slightly graphic, but please don't let that deter you from reading this chapter!

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C.S. Lewis.

_**Author's Note:**_ I blame _**elecktrum **_and her absolutely _fantastic_ stories wholly, completely, and utterly for the turn this chapter has taken. I read through at least five of this author's stories, including _Into the West _and _They Also Serve_, and did not stop for a moment. I love how Peter's and Edmund's relationship is portrayed, how Oreius is portrayed, how wonderful the language is…the list could go on for a while. For now, please enjoy!

_**Rating:**_ T/M

_**Summary:**_ What do you do when you've lived two lifetimes? What do you do when you fall in love with one life and can never go back? Or so you think...Book and Moviebased

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

_Nighttime Demons_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Eleven: Acquainted with the Heart_

(Peter's P.O.V.; Dream Sequence)

_The battle has finished. Across the plains, among the rocks, everywhere…enemy and ally, wounded and dying lay strewn._

_The smell is overwhelming—corpses rotting in the sun, the copper tang of blood. It turns the stomach, causing bile to rise in the throat._

_A stumble. A stagger forward. And then, somehow and inexplicably…arms, pulling upright and supporting._

_A glance up. A tired Lucy, smiling wearily and with a streak of blood marring the side of her lovely face. A small squeeze. And though relief sweeps through him at seeing her safe, she ought to be __**younger**__. Yet, at the same time, this older Lucy seems right, too._

"_Lu?" It's a croak._

_She smiles again, eyes sad, and presses a kiss to his forehead…then suddenly, vanishes with the wind._

"_LU!" _

_It's a cry. A reach, trying to grab her._

_She is gone. Instead, his hand closes around another slim wrist._

_Quickly, a glance up. "Susan!" It's an exclamation. "Where's Lu?"_

_Another weary smile, and yet, why does it seem so distant? "She's safe."_

_Frantic fluttering of his heart. "But where, Su, __**where**__? Cair Paravel? Narnia?"_

"_She is safe. She is fine. Edmund…"_

_Susan's vanishing. Trying to hold onto her, but can't._

"_Edmund? What about Ed? Susan, where are you going!"_

_She vanishes._

"_SUSAN!"_

_She is gone, too._

_Warmth, urgency. "Son of Adam, this way."_

_Whipping around. His eyes widen. Warmth. Urgency. Golden. "Aslan!"_

_Great yellow eyes, sorrow-ridden. "Son of Adam, there is no time. Come!"_

_It's a command._

_Stumbling after the Great Lion; running, tripping, and running again. More smell. More bodies. More wounded. More dying. More dead._

_And finally, on the grass, between two rocky ledges…"EDMUND!"_

_Flying, feet racing. Falling to his knees, pressing his hands to the abdominal wound. And no, NO She __**can't**__! Edmund is his. He belongs to Narnia, and to her High King, and to Aslan. Not to that embodiment of cruelty and hate._

_Then the blood, so much blood. Warm, sticky, sharp copper._

"_Ed! ED!"_

_Tears—hot, salty. He's not responding. Sweet Aslan, he's not responding!_

"_**ED!**__"_

(End Dream Sequence)

A wordless cry. Thrashing awake. Eyes flying open. Throwing myself forward. Upsetting the covers.

What's happening? Where am I? Where's Ed? Where are the girls?

Pure panic. Blinding terror. Gasping for air. Nausea.

Wide eyes. Sight blurred. Twisting around. Shoulders tense. Where are my siblings!

Su's asleep in her chair. Lu's asleep across the bed. And Ed's…

Ed's tucked snugly against me, curled up into a small ball.

My breath comes in short, sharp pants. My hand flies to his neck.

He has a pulse. Praise be to Aslan, he has a pulse.

"'Geroff, Peter." Hands slap mine away sleepily.

I nearly yelp and topple off the bed. He's…talking?

But…but…that's not possible…he can't…!

"Ed!"

I yank him upright, trembling. My eyes are still very, very wide. I feel like crying. He gazes back at me sleepily. His hair is tousled as I run my shaking hand through it.

A dream? That was only a _dream_? But it seemed so real, so…

"Peter?"

I can't take this. I can't!

There's bile in my throat. I can't stay here. I'll sick up.

I let him go, staggering to my feet. Haphazardly, I make my way towards the door and lunge for it.

"Peter!"

I hear his cry, but I don't register it. I manage to force the door open and lurch into the hall. Stumbling more than running, I tumble into the bathroom at the end of the corridor. My knee bangs against the sink. I don't notice it.

/No! There is absolutely no way. He can't…/

I lurch for the toilet, not bothering with the lights.

My stomach turns. I'm throwing up. I hate throwing up.

The lights snap on.

I'm still retching.

"Peter, you idiot!"

Edmund…?

I've stopped, although my stomach's still doing flips. I'm trembling fiercely, but my head's clearer now.

Feeling disgusting and sweaty, I raise my head. "Ed?" my voice is exhausted.

Edmund's kneeling behind me at the toilet, rubbing his hand vigorously up and down my back. His eyes are just about as wide as mine are. "Peter, you bloody imbecile, why didn't you tell us?" he demands. His voice trembles slightly. I think I scared him.

I know I scared me.

I can only shake my head back and forth, and force out, "No, not…not sick. Dream." I'm pretty sure I'm staring.

Is this even _real_?

"Bloody nightmare, you mean," he mutters, still rubbing my back.

I stagger to my feet again. He rises with me and grips my arm to steady me. Even when I'm standing, he won't let go, leaning most of his weight on his good leg.

"Go back to bed, Ed. You…you shouldn't be up."

"And neither should you be hurling in the bathroom at five o'clock in the morning," he grumps, still holding me upright as I stumble to the sink after flushing the toilet.

He only lets me go when I clutch the edge of the basin with my hands, and lean heavily against it. I turn on the faucet for the cold water.

"Ed, go to _bed_. I'm fine." I raise my head to look at him (where he's now leaning against the wall) via the mirror over the sink. Vaguely, I notice my face is almost pure white, and his isn't much better.

His dark brown eyes blaze at me, a stark contrast to his complexion. "Like hell I will! That's pure rot, Peter, and you know it!"

My shaking increases. He doesn't get it, does he?

No one, and I mean _**no one**_, has this effect on me except for him.

Lucy can't reduce me to tears. Not in this way. Her boundless generosity and valiant soul may be cause for my tears to fall (and were on numerous occasions), but they are tears of such utter joy that I would not begrudge her them for the world. This, though…this is _Edmund_, and that makes it different.

Neither can Susan drive me to my knees in tears, as surely as if I had been struck by a sword. Not like this—not _ever _like this. Susan's warm soul and kind heart may be like balm—comforting, releasing balm—when I need it, but not like this.

Sweet Aslan, not like this.

Quickly, I stoop down, splashing cold water on my face and rinsing out my mouth. Edmund hands me a towel from a rack near where he's leaning.

My baby brother is _everything_ to me...and he doesn't even know it. He's been wounded so many times, he's nearly _died_ so many times, he _did_ die—once. And I'll never, ever forget it.

Once I've dried my face—albeit rather unsteadily—and turn off the faucet, I glance up to find him gazing at me with his jaw set and his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes glitter oddly in the artificial light of the bathroom.

I'm alarmed to feel tears rushing into my own. I knew they were coming. Lion's Mane, how could I not? With that horror so fresh in my mind? And still…

I can't let Edmund see me like this.

I drop the towel. There's a moment's fleeting shock across his face before I rush past him into the hall.

My vision rapidly blurs. Blindly, I run down the corridor and sprint down the stairs, into the downstairs hallway. I jerk open the wooden door to the porch and open the screen door after fumbling with the latch.

Once I stagger outside onto the porch, ignoring the slam of the screen door, I stumble down the steps, feeling hot liquid stream down my cheeks.

All I can think of is my need to get away; away from this terrible, burning fear. And oh, Aslan, the _pain_ it brings with it. The pain of loving someone or something so dearly, so completely, that my entire body is one all-encompassing, soul-deep ache.

I'm left to wonder if this is how Aslan feels. If _this_ is what let him give his life away so freely, so careless of his own existence, if my brother could but live to see another day.

Then I wonder if this is how Edmund felt that day at Beruna.

As it turns out, I'm not given much of a chance to think about it as something tackles me from behind, and sends us flying into the sand.

It's Edmund, and he's irate.

Flipping me over onto my back, he pins my shoulders to the sand, eyes flashing and voice furious, "You're going to bloody _stop_ this, and bloody _tell_ me what the hell is--!" Abruptly, he breaks off, eyes widening and the fury cooling, "Peter?" he asks in disbelief.

He's seen my face. Bloody hell, he's seen my—

I start fighting him. My fists fly, but they only succeed in hitting his chest—he's pulled me off the ground and into his arms, crushing me against his body.

I struggle, feeling the tears stream down my cheeks to soak his shoulder. "Stop it! Let me _go_, Ed! I'm supposed to…supposed to…"

It's no use. It's absolutely no bloody use. My struggles lessen and my hits weaken. I start sobbing openly, my shoulders heaving with every muffled cry. /I'm weeping. I'm not supposed to be weeping. Why—/

Feathered kisses bathe my brow. Even with my face half-buried against his neck, I can still hear Ed, "Shh, Peter, shh. It's fine, everything's going to be fine. Shh."

His arms are tight around me, and my own hands are clenched in the front of his nightclothes.

I'm still trembling.

"Shh, Peter. Hush. Everything's going to be fine, it's going to be fine…"

Eternity passes as we sit there in the sand and he continues to murmur into my hair. He brushes several more kisses against my brow.

"Shh, Peter. I love you. Shh, it's fine. I love you. Shh. It's going to be all right…"

He is a gem. An absolute gem. And he has no idea how utterly he completes me.

My shoulders finally jerk with only the occasional sob, and this time it's a breath sob, rather than the heavy sobbing of before. Soon, even those are gone and I'm left with the warmth of Edmund's lips against my forehead.

I calm, although it isn't easy. It's made easier by having him here.

Absurdly, I am reminded of his trembling hands as he helped wrap my shield wrist during the token combat with Miraz.

Terrified as he was, horrified as he was, he had still been there. After the wrist was fixed as well as he and Doctor Cornelius were able, he had grabbed my face, not noticing (or ignoring) my wince, and kissed me soundly on the forehead. Pulling back, he had stared hard and long into my eyes.

"_You will make it, Peter."_

Stated with such conviction that my jaw had dropped. How could he be so certain?

I had gasped out the most coherent phrase I could think of at that point:

"_If I do, it will be because of you."_

I wonder if he knows just how well that conversation, so brief, sustained me throughout the following months as I struggled to come to terms with the fact that I could never again return to Narnia.

"Peter?"

I jerk and blink up at him, suddenly aware I have been drifting.

Gently, he pulls away, gazing at me warmly in the graying dawn. "Ready to talk, yet?" he asks with a soft smile.

The light casts his features into high relief—and that's a blessing because it allows me to see he is, in fact, breathing. That he is, in fact, unharmed. That he is, in fact, alive. There is color on his cheeks, and though his hair's tousled still and he looks tired, he isn't pale or in pain.

He gazes at me with warm eyes, but he isn't lying prone on the ground.

And for me, that's more than enough.

I give a somewhat strangled laugh and lean forward, resting my forehead against his cheek. "How'd you become such a good comforter?" I murmur.

I feel him smile. "Learnt from the best," he replies, a hint of laughter in his own as he lightly nudges me in the ribs.

And in spite of myself, I smile slightly.

"I doubt I'm _that_ good of a teacher, Ed," I respond thickly.

I'm sure he's rolling his eyes. "Oh, no, you're much too busy being on the other end, that's all." His hand slips up to cradle the back of my head. When he speaks, he's serious, "Are you going to tell me what happened or not?"

I take a deep breath…and do.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Ed's quiet when I finish, but I don't mind. Re-telling that horror was not easy, and I exhausted myself all over again.

So I simply stay here, leaning against his shoulder and clenching my eyes shut against the images that are still causing my mind to reel, allowing him to thoughtfully smooth back my hair.

"Well," he finally remarks after a few minutes, "that's enough to make anyone sick."

There's something in his voice, some underlying tone that I can't quite recognize. Wearily, I raise my head, forcing his hand to drop, "Ed?"

He offers me a faint smile and I blink. Is that…he couldn't possibly think…"Edmund!"

He flinches.

Good grief, he does. "Ed, you can't possibly think that this is _your_ fault!"

"Can't I?" he asks softly, gazing at me with darkened eyes. "I know you, Peter. I get myself hurt being too sodding energetic and you go and have a nightmare. That's always how it's been, and probably how it always will be. You're so bloody protective that whenever the injury's even marginally serious you'll have a nightmare that follows it."

And I can't say anything to refute him, because I know it's true. It's certainly not _his_ fault that I had one, however. I'll hold to that.

Yes, it's his injury that triggered it, but not because he did anything, or even on purpose.

Of course, he won't see it that way.

"Edmund," I speak up quietly, "you aren't to blame yourself. Not for this. Yes, I have nightmares, but not because you caused them."

"Nightmares like _that_? Peter--!" he bursts out in objection.

I cut him off, locking my gaze with his. "Ed. Shut up. You are not to blame. You did not cause this. All right?" He doesn't look convinced. My eyes narrow. "All _right_?" I stress.

His protest dies. "All right, Peter," he whispers, voice small, looking defeated.

And in light of what he did earlier, I can't stand it.

I give a small groan. "Damn it, Ed, stop looking like that!" This time, I gently grab _him_ and pull him to me.

I release a breath and it ruffles his hair. He really has no idea, does he? I would say it's the same with Lucy...but it isn't.

"You're a right idiot, you know that?" I mutter into his hair, burying my face in it.

He starts and raises his head to give me a baffled look.

I smile slightly, affection shining in my eyes. /Definitely an idiot./

"Honestly, Ed, you haven't a single notion of what effect you have on me?"

He gives me an incredulous look. "You mean other than causing you to go into overprotective mode? No, I don't."

I shake my head, smiling softly at him, and stroke my thumb across his cheek, eyes still shining. He looks very, very confused now. "If I'm overprotective it's because of what happened in Narnia. Battle of Beruna, remember? And your fever all those years ago played no small part in it, either."

If possible, he looks even more guilty.

Typical Edmund.

I give him a light shake, "Ed," I warn, but am unable to stop smiling. He subsides at last, but glances at me inquiringly. My smile widens slightly. "It's your eyes, Ed."

He blinks rapidly and shakes his head several times in confusion. The question's obvious on his face.

I smirk a bit, but brush his hair gently away from his eyes. "Lucy pouts. You don't—at least, not anymore. But you don't need to, Ed. All I need from you is a glance, and I'm caught. That means I can tell when you're happy or sad, hurt or frightened…the list goes on. Younger siblings tend to do that, you know, and with you…"

I don't say anything else, but I don't have to. He knows. I can see it as he ducks his head, a pleased sparkle creeping into his eyes and a light flush spreading across his cheeks.

I chuckle quietly. I think he's a bit bashful at the moment.

But I'm not through. Gently, I tug his chin up. There's a smile on his face as he gazes—a bit shyly—back at me. In return, I smile, too. "But that's not all, Ed. Remember what you told me the morning after our coronation, out on the balcony?" From the heightened color on his cheeks, I can tell he does. "That day, all I could think was how much your pride and, most of all, your _love_, meant to me. They meant the world to me, Ed," he blushes harder, "and I mean that with all my heart." I lean forward and kiss his forehead, shutting my eyes. Pulling back and opening them, I smile into his, "I love you, Ed, more than life. I want you to know that, and remember it, for as long as you live. And if we're ever separated, even if we're dead, we'll find each other again. You, me, Lu, Susan…I swear it, Ed. I swear it."

He stares at me a full moment, cheeks crimson, before giving a rather thick laugh…and promptly hugging me around my neck. "You ruddy imbecile," he chokes out against my shoulder, voice muffled, but clearly touched and amused, "you have absolutely no authority to say that."

"I know," I reply cheerfully. "Doesn't mean I can't try, though."

He gives another rather thick laugh and starts to pull back, apparently intent on saying something…when his eyes suddenly widen and all color leaves his face. "Dad!"

Pure cold sweeps through me as I feel my own face drain of color. /Damn! How much did he _hear_?/

I whip around, still holding Edmund, to find him leaning against the door jamb of the cottage, arms crossed over his chest and face carefully neutral as he watches us.

For some reason, my arms tense around Edmund and a very uncomfortable tightness burgeons in my own chest as I gaze back at Dad.

It's been only six weeks since he's returned, and I've only seen him for less that half of that—I have no idea, really, how he's dealing with the knowledge that Edmund and Lucy, even Susan, seem to, at times, prefer my presence to his.

I shouldn't be thinking things like that. He is our father, after all, but…

At that moment, his eyes turn from Ed to quietly regard me.

Then his expression suddenly drops altogether and he actually _grins_, "Well, if that's the way you want it, then."

My mouth must have dropped open, and both of us must be staring, because he abruptly bursts into laughter at the expressions on our faces.

For several long minutes he merely stands there, bent double with his arms wrapped around his stomach and laughing heartily. Eventually, as I close my mouth and try to glare, and Edmund starts looking indignant, his laughter finally subsides.

He straightens up, and coughs lightly into his fist, but there's a distinct smile lurking behind his hand. Uncurling the fist, he waves us in, still smiling, "Come on, inside, you two."

I watch him warily, but eventually nod and stand to my feet on the top step of the porch that Edmund and I have somehow managed to drag ourselves up onto. Helping Ed to his feet and wrapping my arm around his waist to support him, I follow Dad into the house.

My adorably infuriating brother, I notice, is favoring his left leg again (it's his right that was sprained), and I shake my head. "Honestly, Ed," I sigh, "did you have to _run_ after me?"

He gives me a sort of half-grin, eyes sparkling again, and leans on my shoulder for balance. "And let you get halfway down the beach? I didn't notice 'til just now, really."

I sigh again, but smile, finally relaxing. "Thank you for that," I murmur.

His grin grows as he turns slightly to glance at me. "You're welcome, Peter," he replies sincerely.

We enter the cottage after that, and follow Dad into the living room. Lucy's sitting on the couch next to Susan, and jumps up when she sees us. Her face is quite pale.

"Peter!" she cries, and rushes at me.

I lean down slightly to catch her one-armed, still supporting Ed, as her own arms go around my back. She's trembling as she hugs me.

I kiss her head. "Sorry to frighten you, Lu. I'm fine now, I promise," I whisper.

Edmund leans down, too, and brushes back some of her hair, smiling. "We'll make sure of it, Lu. Right?" He shoots his smile up at me before turning it back to her.

Lucy finally smiles, pulling back, eyes dancing. "Of course."

The three of us finally straighten and I laugh slightly, lightly touching her hair.

She grins and moves away as Susan glides over, graceful as ever. When she reaches us, she intently studies my face, "You're all right?"

I smile softly at her, nodding. "Yes."

"Good," and she leans forward to kiss me firmly on the forehead before whirling away.

Confused by her brusqueness, I share a glance with Edmund. He frowns slightly, then shrugs. Lu's noticed, too, apparently, gazing after Susan in puzzlement, as our older sister goes to the lace-curtained window that looks out over the porch.

This is not the same Susan who was with us last night.

Mum suddenly clears her throat from where she's been sitting in the rocking chair and gives me a look that plainly asks, _Are you __**sure**__ you're all right?_

I smile warmly and assure her, "Fine, Mum."

I see Dad give her a significant look out of the corner of my eye and she nods, standing to her feet. Coming over to where Lu, Ed, and I stand, she drapes an arm around Lucy's shoulders and smiles at her, "Time for an early breakfast, I think," she advises softly. "Why don't you get the kettle started, darling? Orange tea and pancakes ought to make a good meal, don't you think?"

Lu's entire face lights up and she grins, rushing out of the living room and across the hallway into the kitchen.

Susan looks away from the window and glances inquiringly at Mum, who smiles again and tells her, "Go on, dear, I'm sure your sister would like your help."

So Su leaves the room, too, and crosses to the kitchen—at a rather more sedate pace than Lucy.

My own smile turns to a small frown as I gaze after her. Something's wrong. I don't know what, but it is.

From the glance Edmund shoots me after she's gone, I know he's thinking the same thing.

Dad clears his throat as Mum follows the girls, drawing our attention back him. When Ed and I look at him, he indicates the couch.

We exchange another glance, before following his instructions. I gently lower Edmund to sit on the sofa's cushions before dropping down next to him.

Ed's reaction is automatic, really. Pulling his legs up, he tucks them against his chest and curls into my side. Of its own accord, my arm slips around his shoulders.

Dad frowns a little when Edmund leans his head into my shoulder, but sighs and pulls up an armchair across from us to sit in, fixing me with an intent gaze. What he says next completely throws me, "I see now that I can never hope to compete with you," he remarks wryly.

Both Ed and I start. "Dad, I'm not--!" I try to protest, at the same time Edmund protests, "Dad, Peter's not--!"

He raises his hands palm up, stopping us mid-sentence, "I'm well aware that you're not, Peter. Hear me out, you two. When I left, neither of you could be in the same room with each other for ten minutes without breaking into a row. I come back five years later, hearing only from your mother just after you returned from the country how much you've changed, to find you and your sisters far closer than I've seen any other set of siblings. I was there the entire time, in case you're wondering—outside, on the porch, I mean. Yes, Peter, I saw you cry. Yes, Edmund, I heard every word you two spoke. What I don't understand, is just _what_ changed, and why." He gives us a penetrating look. "You mentioned a coronation, and a battle, and someplace called Narnia. And I'd like an explanation of just what _that_ is about. What coronation? What battle? Ed, does this have something to do with why exactly you knew what battle plans entailed?"

Ed and I trade uneasy glances. As Edmund nods, I look back at Dad, "If you want to know that, we'll have to go get the girls."

Startling us for the third time in the past fifteen minutes, he smiles, shaking his head. "You misunderstand me," he says gently. "Yes, I want an explanation. But not from you. Not yet."

We start again. "Then who--?" Edmund begins to ask.

Dad cuts him off, still smiling. "I was thinking more along the lines of inviting that Professor friend of yours over for a week or so. He could perhaps tell it from a different perspective than you might, and since I've been hearing an awful lot about him from the four of you, can you blame a man for being curious?"

I finally smile slightly, although my stomach feels uncomfortably knotty. Ed's smiling, too, but a glance at his eyes reveals that he's just about as sure of this as I am.

Which isn't a lot.

"May we tell the girls, Dad?" I ask.

He leans back into his chair with a sigh, crossing his ankles and smiling at us. "Go ahead. Ed, you stay off that foot, you hear?"

Edmund's grin widens slightly and he rolls his eyes warmly. "Oh, don't worry," he assures Dad dryly, "Peter will probably tie me to a chair once we get into the kitchen."

I actually laugh outright and stand to my feet, tousling his hair as I often do Lucy's. "Well, it wouldn't be the first time."

Still grinning, I haul him gently to his feet and take on part of his weight as we slowly make our way towards the kitchen.

Dad's rich laughter rings out behind us as we exit the living room.

_Tbc._


	12. Incomplete

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C.S. Lewis.

_**Rating:**_ T

_**Summary:**_ What do you do when you've lived two lifetimes? What do you do when you fall in love with one life and can never go back? Or so you think...Book and Moviebased

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

_Nighttime Demons_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Twelve: Incomplete_

(Clacton-On-Sea, Colin Pevensie's P.O.V.)

I know Helen said they changed. I did not realize they had changed _this_ much.

I sigh, and resting my elbow on the arm of the couch, drop my chin into my hand and gaze out the window, frowning slightly.

They aren't _supposed_ to be like this. Not at only fifteen and eighteen years of age! Every time I look into their eyes—or their sisters' eyes for that matter—I see there years of experience which I did not take part in. And what is truly disconcerting is that those years number more than just five or six.

I know war has made adults out of children for centuries. But my children have a depth to their gazes that I do not see in their fellows, and they seem more real, almost, than any others their age.

It's frustrating, and it's _painful_.

Particularly when I only catch fragments of memories, pieces of conversations, that apparently they all share…and Helen and I do not.

The scene I witnessed on the porch between Edmund and Peter, for example. Narnia? A coronation? A _battle_? It would seem like utter, ridiculous nonsense if I did not feel so strongly that something in those words held the key to finally understanding—at least a little—my grown up children.

I did not lie when I told Peter I could never hope to compete with him. I do not believe he realizes it, but he is _the_ central figure in the lives of his siblings. More than Helen. More than myself.

And that hurts. I cannot believe just how _badly_ that hurts. To think I didn't realize it until the past few weeks.

Edmund no longer comes to me. If Peter's not home he goes to Lucy. If Peter's home, then I can barely catch one without the other for more than two hours in a row. And Lucy does not stray far from her brothers, either. When the three of them actually reach the age to legally be considered adults and move out of the house, I truly will not be surprised if they decide to live together, or at least, live very nearby one another.

Every separation seems heart-rending for them. They are reluctant to say good-bye, even though they know they must, and know they will see each other soon. They cling to one another with a fierceness that suggests they have been through far worse than merely parting for school. As if they are afraid one of them will come back wounded, or covered in blood, or half-dead.

From Peter's description of his nightmare, it seems they might well have.

That dream of his…in all its horror, it suggests a sickeningly intimate knowledge of the battlefield. He speaks as one who knows the battlefield and death all too well. Something an eighteen-year-old should not. Something my _son_ should not.

Perhaps, though, that is one of the reasons why they seem so completely _different_ from their same-age companions. They have an understanding of their own mortality I have encountered in few others.

Only soldiers should have such a great understanding. And they aren't soldiers. They're supposed to be children!

But they aren't. As much as it pains me to admit it, they aren't.

I said Edmund no longer comes to me. Now I see why—at least a little.

He has something with Peter I'm afraid I don't understand. They are more than just brothers by blood. They are brothers by the heart and soul, too.

Furthermore, they are best friends.

Edmund's obvious familiarity with his brother's thought process, his ability to understand Peter with hardly any words exchanged between them at all, speaks to me of long years of experience which I'm not entirely sure he ought to have. Not at only fifteen.

Those same years deepen his gaze. Make it so wise, so somber, and (after a nightmare) so haunted.

But Lucy can make him smile. Peter can make him laugh. Is it any wonder, then, that he seeks their comfort now, rather than mine?

It shouldn't come as a shock to me. And really, it doesn't.

It does, however, hurt.

Things aren't the same anymore. I shouldn't have expected them to be.

Edmund trusts Peter with his pain.

Peter trusts Edmund with his weakness.

They both trust Lucy with their happiness.

She trusts them both with her safety.

I can no longer claim the same. Nor can Helen, it appears.

And Susan…no matter who she becomes or what happens, she will always love her siblings.

They have been a family, it seems, far longer than the eighteen years they have been the center of our lives. It would seem ludicrous if it didn't feel so right.

Helen claims I will learn to take comfort in that knowledge. And I'm trying. But for the moment, it is a bone-deep ache.

There is nothing hidden between Peter and Edmund. There is a wall three meters thick between them and me.

I hope their Professor friend's visit will help. Because right now, I feel completely and utterly lost. I don't know where my place is in their lives anymore. I don't know _what_ my place is anymore. And it is not easy for a father to admit one of his sons has taken on his role—the role he thought he would play until his children were grown up.

I now recognize the feeling I had at the train station six weeks ago when I watched my two youngest children bid good-bye to their older brother. It happened again this morning, when I watched Peter and Edmund together on the porch, and again not five minutes before when they sat together on the couch.

It was jealousy…and longing. The jealousy alone makes me feel sick.

Isn't this what I wanted? To see my children loving each other, protecting each other? For my sons to reconnect? For _all_ my children to reconnect?

And they have, far more beautifully than I could have ever imagined.

I just did not realize how great a sacrifice I would have to make in order to receive such a wish, and I shudder to think how Helen must have first taken it when she understood that.

Sending them away to the countryside was sacrifice enough.

And there it is. The countryside. Everything my children are now, everything they do, how they act, what they share, all of it comes back to that queer old manor in Coombe Halt.

I need real answers. These thoughts are getting me nowhere.

My wife has left Professor Kirke's number by the telephone.

_Tbc._


	13. Tangibility

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C.S. Lewis.

_**Rating:**_ T

_**Summary:**_ What do you do when you've lived two lifetimes? What do you do when you fall in love with one life and can never go back? Or so you think...(Book and Moviebased)

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

_Nighttime Demons_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Thirteen: Tangibility_

(Three Days Later, Clacton-on-Sea, Edmund's P.O.V.)

"I'm going to change, Lu," I tell her after brushing a piece of my hair out of my face and straightening from where I've been pounding the dough for the bread she wants to make. I glance down with a rueful smile at my clothing. My shirt and trousers are covered in flour.

She smiles brightly at me. "That's fine, Ed. I can take it from here. Thank you for your help."

I grin at her where she stands, rolling pin in hand, flattening more dough, and covered in at least as much flour as I am, then lean over to kiss her forehead.

She giggles as I pull back, leaving a streak of white powder behind. "You might want to take a shower, too."

I sigh, but roll my eyes fondly. "Maybe I should. I also ought to see if Pete's up, yet. The Professor's due to arrive soon."

"What time did he go to sleep last night?" she asks, frowning slightly. Peter almost never takes naps—and in the past few days, he's taken three of them.

"How should _I_ bloody know?" I grumble, and apparently, quite savagely as Lucy frowns even more. I sigh again and run my hand through my hair, shaking loose a small shower of flour. "Sorry, Lu. Not helping. But he practically _sat_ on me to get me to go to sleep last night."

In spite of everything, she still manages to smile. "Well," she answers with a soft giggle, "perhaps _you_ should do the sitting this time."

I go still and blink at her a few times, before a grin slowly spreads across my face. Surprising Lucy, I'm sure, I suddenly rush at her and, picking her up, spin her around, scattering the flour even more than it has been already. I'm laughing. "Lu, you're a brick!"

She gives a small squeal of delight, before laughing in return as I gently set her down again. "Well you've done it often enough," she teases, and then swats lightly at my shoulder. "Now get moving."

Still grinning, I drop one more kiss on her forehead before exiting the kitchen and climbing up the stairs. Only the screen door is closed, letting the sea breezes in, and I can hear Mum and Susan talking outside on the porch.

It is quiet as I climb the stairs up to the upper hallway. The lights are off, and the hallway itself is cool. Dad and Mum's bedroom door is closed, so I suppose Dad is taking a nap, too.

He was up earlier than any of us this morning, and when Peter, Lu, Susan, and I came down for breakfast, he and Mum were already at the kitchen table, sipping coffee. Apparently, he had gone looking for an old ruin that he remembered from being a boy and over breakfast, told us that it was actually a ruined _castle_.

Lucy, of course, was excited to hear this (not that Peter and I weren't), and Dad promised he would take us one morning if we wanted to go.

Susan, however, was strangely silent on the matter, and none of the three of us quite dared to ask her why. Scared, I suppose, that the sense that she was somehow leaving us behind would prove true.

At any rate, after breakfast, both Dad and Peter went back up to their rooms.

It's nearly two-thirty in the afternoon by now, and Peter at least, has been asleep for roughly three hours.

I try to be quiet as I creep by our room and to the bathroom. Although the floorboards creak faintly, there is no stirring in either room.

I do not turn on the lights when I enter the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. There is a window in there (over the toilet), and the afternoon sunlight still manages to stream in, so there is light enough by which to see.

I'm grateful for the coolness of the tile as I undress—it has been humid and hot all day. It's even better when I step into the shower, pulling the curtain closed behind me, and turn on the shower to a cool, barely lukewarm, spray.

I grin as I let the water stream down my face, my shoulders, and my back. It feels absolutely wonderful.

Soon enough, my hair is cleaned of flour and sweat, as is my body, and I step out, turning off the water and quickly rubbing myself dry with a towel.

Stooping, I examine my clothes. The trousers are all right for now, pretty much cleared of flour. My shirt, however, is another matter entirely.

Shaking my head, I grin and toss it into the laundry basket next to the sink. Throwing the towel around my neck, I pull on the rest of my clothes (including the trousers) before opening the door and striding out into the hall, shirtless. The cool air hits my skin and I smile, feeling refreshed.

My footsteps remain relatively silent as I make my way to the bedroom Peter and I share. Lucy, who is apparently done in the kitchen, has just left the steps and entered the hall.

I don't notice her at first (not really, at least), busy toweling my hair dry.

I _do_ notice her, however, when she gives a small, startled shriek and darts into her and Susan's bedroom, quite nearly slamming their door shut—which startles _me_.

I jump back in surprise, and stare at the now closed door…before softly laughing.

Walking past our own room for the moment, I knock lightly on the girls' door and call quietly, "Lu, you've seen me bare-chested before, you know."

Muffled laughter finally reaches me through the wood. Lucy opens the door and sticks her head out, grinning, "Yes, but your torso was usually covered in bandages. It's a little shocking to see your older brother half-naked—thought I'd mention it."

I laugh again, and pull her into a hard hug, loving her even more for her purely Lucy retort.

She gives a soft squeal and squirms away, grabbing my towel and lightly whacking me with it. "Stop it, Ed!" she laughs, gently chucking the towel at me. "I'm still covered in flour."

I grin and catch it. "Bathroom's yours if you want, but best make it quick. Peter'll probably want to wash his face after I get him up."

"Fine," she grins, backing into her room, "now leave your little sister in peace."

I smirk warmly at her, giving a mock-bow. "But, of course, Madam."

"Edmund!" she teasingly scolds, eyes dancing as she begins to pull the door to hers and Susan's room shut. Then she pauses, briefly dropping down into graceful curtsey with a wide grin. Straightening, she winks at me, "You smell good, by the way. I think Mum will approve." With one final grin, she at last fully shuts the door.

I feel myself blush slightly, and shake my head, chuckling, before turning around to retrace my steps to our room.

When I reach it, I pause and slowly push open the door, careful not to make too much noise, quietly slipping in. I leave it slightly ajar behind me.

The lights in here are off, too, and the drapes are drawn. Peter's soft sleep-breathing reaches me as I silently pad across the floor to where he's resting on his bed.

I pause again when I reach his side, wordlessly watching his chest gently rise and fall, and allow myself the luxury of watching him as he sleeps. It seems such a shame to wake him; he's had little enough sleep as it is for the past couple of days. On more than one occasion I've woken to find him curled up in the armchair underneath the window, trying to read by candle light, or else just looking across the sand at the cliffs and the sea and the stars.

It's odd. Peter has always struck me as the type of person who, regardless of how horrible his nightmares become, will deal with the fear accordingly, and then, quite easily, roll over and fall back asleep.

Three days ago, I saw how very wrong that assumption was. I suppose, being away from Narnia for so long and with Peter at university, I forgot that my older brother, no matter how hard he tries to hide it, is extraordinarily sensitive.

If he sees me die in a nightmare, let alone in a nightmare as vivid as the one he had three nights ago, then I need to remember that there is absolutely no chance of getting him to sleep unless I'm quite literally wrapped around him.

I also forgot how much his moods affect me.

I've tried to hide it from him, but whenever he's restless, _I'm_ restless. And whenever he doesn't sleep well, inevitably it follows that _I _won't sleep well.

He caught me watching him last night, when I had woken to find him in his usual place underneath the window somewhere around two a.m., and to put it mildly, he wasn't pleased.

Hence the whole "sitting" diabolical.

Now, though, I most assuredly plan on following Lucy's advice. Perhaps not actually _sitting_ on him, but well…I'll figure out something.

Sitting gingerly on the edge of his mattress, I lightly prod at his side as I lean over to watch his face. "Wake up, you great lump," I mutter warmly, smiling.

Peter gives a quiet groan and rolls over to face me, sleepily cracking his eyes open and peering up at me. "E-Ed?" he yawns, stretching.

I roll my eyes fondly. "About time you got up, sleeping beauty," I tease, smile turning into a grin.

Peter scowls slightly at me. I just continue grinning, beginning to straighten.

He startles me by suddenly reaching up and gently grabbing the back of my head, pulling me down and burying his nose in my hair. After a moment, he pulls away again, still grasping the back of my head, and smiles at me, "Thought so. You smell nice, Ed."

I'm still a little startled, and so, shakily roll my eyes again. "Lu said that, too, you know. I just took a shower, s'all."

His eyes crinkle slightly at the corners as his smile widens a bit. "I'm not surprised she said that. You smell like Narnia, Ed."

I merely stare at him a moment, before laughing. "Yes, soap and water."

"And salt and wind and I guess…lavender, was it? The new shampoo Mum bought in town yesterday, I'd expect," he completes.

I grin again, shaking my head in amusement. "You're loopy. I can't believe we're even _having_ this conversation." But I sigh, shoulders relaxing, as he slowly sits up and brings my head down to rest in the crook of his neck. Mixed with my recent revelations about his nighttime wanderings, something about his hugging me causes me to mumble, "I miss it, Peter."

He sighs softly to himself, his breath ruffling my hair. "I know, Ed. I do, too. All of us do. But…I say, isn't the Professor coming today?" he exclaims suddenly.

In spite of everything, I have to laugh. "Yes, Peter. The Professor's due at four. Why do you think I woke you up?"

I'm sure he's rolling his eyes impatiently. "Fine, fine, point taken." He drops a kiss on my forehead and gently shoves me upright. "Go get your shirt on," he orders with a grin, "and let me wake up some more."

I have enough presence of mind to muffle my laughter as I roll upright and stand to my feet. Shooting him another grin, I make my way to my bureau, opening the drawer which has all my shirts stored in it.

It's true, he still looks half-asleep, and his hair's tousled on one side. I smile fondly as he rubs his eyes in an effort to wake up more, hearing faintly the water running in the bathroom. I suppose Lu's taking her shower now.

I pull out one of my lighter, short-sleeved shirts and shake out the creases. I'm also careful to keep my back to the door of our room. Peter had been disoriented enough when I woke him, and unsuspecting enough when he hugged me, that I had felt confident about his not noticing my back.

Now, however...Peter may be half-asleep, but that does not mean I want him to see it.

Granted, he knows I have a respectable crop of scars—all of us do, really—but it is the oldest and smallest of those scars that I have done everything in my power to hide from him. He knows its counterpart, located in the center of my body, just above my pelvic bone, and can hardly look at it without going white.

He doesn't know that when Jadis stabbed me, she stabbed right _through_ me and snapped my spine. I had been paralyzed on that battlefield.

But he doesn't know that. And if I have my way, he never will.

Tossing my towel onto my bed, I go to pull the half-unbuttoned shirt over my head…and freeze as I hear our door open and Dad's voice starting to ask, "Boys, is everything--"

But I'm not fast enough, and Dad's question abruptly ends in a strangled cry. Cursing under my breath, I jam my shirt over my head and whip around, rapidly buttoning up the rest of it. I'm in enough time to see Peter lurch out of his bed and onto his feet out of the corner of my eye, and to catch Dad staring at me in horrified shock, before he turns on heel and dashes out of our room.

Peter and I exchange alarmed glances, then sprint out into the hallway after him.

It is one thing to hide a single scar among a dozen from Peter, who is familiar with how easily we can map our battles via our bodies.

It is another thing entirely for Dad to see them. Although our bodies may have returned to the state they had been in before we first went into the wardrobe, and grew like every other _normal_ child's body as the years progressed, the marks our lives in Narnia have left are still there—both physically and mentally.

When we tumble out onto the porch where Mum and Susan are, the screen door banging shut behind us, it is to see that Dad has already reached the halfway point between the cottage and the sea and is still going.

Su quickly turns to us and asks, eyes flashing with worry, "What happened?"

Mum's gazing after Dad, wide-eyed.

Peter turns to her as we pull up short, and sighs, "He saw Ed's scars."

There's a sudden, small gasp from Mum and she hurriedly stands to her feet, pattering down the porch steps and rushing after Dad. We watch her as she goes and somehow manages to catch up with him when he's at the tide-line.

Mum found out about our scars when she took us to get physicals for school. Several days after that we were swept off to Narnia to help Caspian so she's known for a while.

Dad hasn't.

"Guess she forgot to warn him," I mutter, self-consciously hugging my arms to my chest as we watch her throw her own around his neck and embrace him.

I hate it when Dad makes a fuss over me. Or Peter and the girls, for that matter. Mum, either, or…anyone, really. As my siblings frequently remind me, I am mule-headed and independent, especially when I set my mind to it. If I can heal myself, or treat myself, I'll do it. If I have any way at all of doing something by myself, I'll do it. It frustrates my siblings to no end, but that's who I am.

The screen door creaks open behind us, and we turn to find Lu stepping out onto the porch, toweling off her hair and dressed in a fresh set of clothes. Apparently, she's already seen Mum and Dad. Her eyes land on me. "What's wrong?" she asks.

I blow out a weary breath, briskly rubbing my arms, and inform her quietly, "Dad saw my scars."

"Oh," she murmurs quietly, bowing her head and taking a seat by Susan on the porch swing as she lays the towel on her lap.

The four of us watch as Mum takes Dad's hand and they start walking down the beach in the opposite direction we did several nights ago. After a while, when we can barely see them anymore, I'm aware that all my siblings are absently fingering their own scars, and a glance down reveals that I've been fingering my own.

When I look back up, Mum and Dad are gone.

Susan stands, then, motioning to Lucy. "Come on, Lucy, dear. We'd better start making supper." She glances at Peter and I, raising a delicate eyebrow. "You boys are coming, yes?"

As Lucy stands with a slight frown at Susan's "dear," I give our older sister a small scowl for her use of "boys." She doesn't appear to notice, however, merely leading Lu into the cottage.

Peter moves up to me and gently grips my shoulder, turning me towards the front door. "Come on, Ed," he remarks softly.

I cast one last glance in the direction Mum and Dad went, before allowing him to pull me through into the cottage.

As the girls head for the kitchen, Peter guides us into the living room. After a moment, he releases me and sits on the couch.

I stand, glancing nervously over my shoulder at the door, before starting to pace: every one of my scars has a story behind it (as do the others' scars), and very few of those stories take place here. Most of them are from Narnia.

Peter and I already know Dad's suspicious, and are well aware he's heard us speak of Narnia. I feel like I ought to trust he won't be angry at me—or us—and do…somewhat. But I have to wonder if he is taking all this as calmly as he seems to be, reaction to my scars aside.

I'm about to trace another circuit across the floor when I abruptly crash into something quite solid. Before I can react, Peter's arms are tight around me and he's bowed his head to whisper into my hair, "Calm down, Ed."

I do—momentarily. But at a muted crash of pots from the kitchen I jump, and try to pull free of Peter.

With an exasperated sigh, he releases me and sits down on the sofa, pulling out a book and allowing me to indulge in a second fit of pacing.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Over an hour and a half has passed by now, and Peter has finally forced me to sit down on the floor between his legs, laying aside the book he had been reading. He hasn't let me out of his sight for a second; I think he's afraid I'll make myself sick with stress if he does. I'll admit, though, the thought's tempting.

He's sitting behind me on the sofa, the half-read book discarded on a nearby cushion as he cards his fingers through my hair. He glances up briefly at the front door before bringing his eyes back down to my face and offering a crooked smile. "Try to relax, Ed. You'll do yourself no good if you tie your stomach in knots."

I snort faintly and lean my head back into his hands, shutting my eyes. "You're one to talk."

In return, he smiles weakly, continuing to stroke my hair. "I know. Just trust me when I say I know _exactly_ what I'm talking about."

I crack an eye open to peer up at him with a faint grin. "Let me guess, certain infuriating younger brothers decided to pull several death-defying stunts and nearly got killed in the process. Or should that be certain infuriating _older_ brothers?"

It is his turn to give a light snort and he gently cuffs me upside the head before his fingers resume their course through my hair. "Among other things."

In spite of myself, I relax, and, sighing, turn to nudge into his hand. "Sorry," I whisper.

While he tries to figure out if my apology is indeed half-sincere, I cast my eyes towards the threshold leading to the hallway and across to the kitchenette, wondering if I can somehow help without moving from this spot (really, Peter has an uncanny ability to put me to sleep when he wants to).

That's when the screen and front doors suddenly creak open.

I immediately straighten as Peter quickly follows suit, his hands dropping to my shoulders, and the girls poke their heads out of the kitchen.

Mum enters the foyer first, followed by Dad—who's carrying a valise and suitcase. And behind them…

There's a happy cry from Lucy as she darts out of the kitchen and fairly tackles "Professor!" in an exuberant hug.

_Tbc._


	14. Impossibilities

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C.S. Lewis.

_**Author's Note:**_ Hi, everyone :waves:! It's been a while (a _long_ while for some of you, sorry about that :sheepish smile:), but as promised, here is the next chapter of _Nighttime Demons_, and with any luck, I'll have another couple of chapters out this summer. Thank you for being so patient! Just a couple of side notes: (1) I've gone over and revised various parts of earlier chapters (some quite a bit), so go have a look! And (2) _Steadfast Heart_'s next post should hopefully be out sometime this weekend or next week. So now, please enjoy the fic!

_**Rating:**_ T

_**Summary:**_ What do you do when you've lived two lifetimes? What do you do when you fall in love with one life and can never go back? Or so you think...Book and Moviebased

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

_Nighttime Demons_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Fourteen: Impossibilities_

(Late Evening of the Same Day, Colin Pevensie's P.O.V.)

I've been wandering the halls of my old family home in a numb, bewildered haze for the past several hours, ever since the two older ones carried their younger siblings up to bed.

It must be close to one a.m., even Helen has retired for the night.

I can't. My mind is still reeling from the overwhelming body of information that the past six hours have brought.

Nothing, and I mean _**nothing**_, could have prepared me for the answers I received this evening. My children were _kings_ and _queens_? _Actual_ kings and queens for fifteen _years_? Of a country where Witches kept one-hundred years of winter without Christmas? Where Centaurs led armies and trained kings in combat? With Talking Animals (and they must be pronounced with a capital "T" and "A") and dancing Trees?

Impossible. Absurd.

And irrefutably sensible in the oddest possible way. After all, how can you disbelieve something that explains absolutely _everything_?

What I have been told is not much more than a detailed outline, but I _know_ there is at least a hundred more stories within the ones I have been given. The details I did receive are so great that I know I'll need hours just to sort through the first of those stories alone.

One figure that appears in _all_ these stories, from start to finish, however, is Aslan.

Aslan is a lion. And not just any lion, _the_ Lion.

From what I understand, He (and they do pronounce that with a capital "H" when speaking of Him) is the reason my children are like this at all. He gave them the first nudge…and they took off with wings wide spread.

Apparently, He also saved Edmund's life.

That alone earns Him my eternal gratitude.

But there is more to Him, too.

This Aslan…brings such _joy_ to my children's faces, Lucy's in particular. The same holds true for Professor Kirke. Near as I can figure, the look they wear when speaking of Him is very similar to the one Edmund wears when speaking of Peter.

But their looks are also unique enough that I know each of my children view Aslan in their own ways.

Lucy says I will understand when I meet Him.

When I asked her how she could be so sure, she just smiled.

IOIOIOIOIOI

The small grandfather clock in the living room has just chimed two a.m. I have taken to pacing in front of my children's rooms in the upper hallway.

From the whirlwind of thoughts and worries coursing through my mind, only one is even semi-clear.

I need to talk with my children themselves. Then search out the Professor. Then search out this Aslan. The way Lucy, Professor Kirke, and the boys speak of Him, it is as if He is already here, in this world. Susan…has not spoken at all. And judging from the concerned looks her siblings have been casting her all evening, I wasn't the only one to notice.

"…How long have you been awake?" the sudden demand, muffled behind the closed door of my sons' room causes me to stop in my tracks.

What are either _one_ of them doing up at this hour?

I really shouldn't…I honestly don't know if I'm ready…but I _need_ to know…or, at the very least, how long they've been up.

The door barely creaks as I open it, wide enough for me to have a clear view of what is going on inside. Neither of my sons shows any indication that they've heard me.

I'm a little startled by that—judging from the descriptions of their battles Professor Kirke has given me (as told to him by my boys, no doubt), and from everything I know, at the slightest noise they should be whirling around to face me, scrambling for swords they no longer carry.

I know that is how I react, lacking a gun.

It was Edmund who spoke; he is standing in front of his older brother's chair, arms crossed over his chest and not-quite-glaring at Peter who is curled up within its confines, his back to me.

"_Peter_…"

There is thinly veiled worry behind the exasperated tone he uses.

Peter's response is, perhaps, to be expected, "Never mind that, Ed. It isn't important." He sounds exhausted.

"Bollocks it isn't, Pete."

I'd say something about his language, but knowing what I know now…I'm even less certain of my place than I was three days ago—or is it four?

As it turns out, Peter does it for me. "Edmund!" he scolds.

There's a growl from Edmund. "I'll jolly well talk how I want to talk, Peter! And stop trying to change the subject—you're just as bad as I am!"

Apparently, they've been at this for a while, and how I didn't notice before isn't something I want to think about right now.

There's a tired snort of laughter from my eldest. "I doubt it. You, darling brother of mine, mastered the art of evasion long ago."

"I'm flattered, I'm sure, my lord," comes the dry retort from Edmund, matched only by the expression he wears. "Now, are you going to stand up, or do I have to do it for you?"

I'm sure there's a smile curling his older brother's lips. "I doubt you can even pick me up."

Edmund scowls impatiently. "Don't tempt me, Pete. I'm sure you remember once upon a time I _could_."

In Narnia, doubtless. I wonder if Peter is raising an eyebrow—I know I am. Seems there's a story behind this; numerous stories, probably. This is clearly a familiar routine. "I won't deny that, but you _do_ know you have several years to go—_at least_, Ed—before you can do it again."

Edmund doesn't answer. My jaw drops as he abruptly scoops (yes, _scoops_; there's no other way to describe it) his older brother off the armchair and unceremoniously dumps him on his feet.

Blank shock covers my oldest son's face as he briefly staggers before righting himself. "I can't believe you _did_ that!" he sputters.

His younger brother merely smirks slightly. "Can't you? I might not be able to carry you just yet, but that certainly doesn't mean I can't order you to bed—_bodily_, if I have to."

Peter seems to regain composure. Now it is his turn to scowl. "Ed…" he begins warningly.

From the stubborn set of Edmund's jaw, I realize quite suddenly that this is one battle Peter won't win.

A moment later, I realize why.

Without my noticing—or Peter's—Edmund has slipped his fist up to the juncture between his brother's jaw line and neck. A pressure point: the slightest bit of movement on either of my boys' parts and Peter will be knocked unconscious, however temporarily.

My own jaw clenches, and I have to forcibly restrain myself from intervening.

It will allow Edmund to get his older brother into bed without protest…but I can't settle with the fact that he would go this far, just to get Peter to sleep.

As I'm coming to understand, however, there isn't anything Edmund wouldn't do to ensure his brother's well-being and safety, regardless of what it means for him.

Grimly, he meets Peter's startled and slightly widened blue eyes. "Don't make me, Pete. You know I will."

I believe it.

Peter lets his breath out in a long rush, and his face goes eerily still and white. He hasn't once looked away from his brother and fear has filled his eyes. When he speaks, his voice is incredibly small, "I-I don't want to watch you die again, Ed. I couldn't stand it the first time—and you _did_ die, Ed, don't deny it—and it is a thousand times worse each time I relive it…because Lu isn't there with her cordial to make it right again."

I remember this cordial from the Professor's stories. It healed many wounds and gave the dying life. From what I understand, it was a near thing for Edmund—a moment too late, a moment too long, and he would have been lost.

I can't imagine how it must have been for Peter (or their sisters) to watch that. Especially when I remember how he reacted when Ed had scarlet fever eight years ago.

He'd been so worried, so devoted, he'd fallen ill himself.

When I see Peter crumple, it is all I can do to bite back my alarmed cry; I have to use every ounce of my strength to keep from leaping through the doorway and into my sons' bedroom.

Edmund lunges forward to catch Peter and I pull up short. As I watch, he gathers his brother into a tight hug and slowly sinks to his knees, cradling Peter in his arms and burying his face in Peter's hair with a muttered, "Idiot."

I wince as his voice cracks, catching at the end with tears. Clearly, he doesn't like this anymore than I do.

By now, I've had enough.

Making sure the door creaks loudly as I enter, I quickly walk over to my two sons where they are huddled together on the rug of their shared bedroom. As I reach out to touch Edmund's shoulder, I notice he has already tensed up, even if he refuses to look away from his brother's neck.

His yell, therefore, is half-smothered as my hand brushes his shoulder; sure enough, he snatches at empty air near his hips.

Curiously enough, it is with both hands.

For a bizarre, nauseating minute, I can imagine them both on a battlefield: bloodied, Edmund crouching over his fallen brother, with twin blades of steel crossed over Peter's chest in a defensive stance.

Then I blink rapidly, and the image is gone. I'm left facing a pale Edmund, who has finally looked away from Peter and watches me with no small amount of trepidation.

I conceal a grimace as my heart contracts sharply, wishing in vain that he had no reason for such wariness.

"Dad?" again, that caution.

I sigh, and lean down to loosely grip his shoulder. "You fought with two swords?" and nod to his hands which have automatically fisted to protect his downed brother.

He blinks in slight shock, not sure how to take my response, and then follows my gaze to glance at his hands. He blanches, and eases them open to gently grip Peter's nightclothes instead.

When he looks back up at me, Edmund gives a small nod. "Yes, both Peter and I were taught how. By Oreius."

The glance that accompanies his explanation is cautious, and with good reason. This Oreius was their weapons teacher, and the General of their…of Narnia's army. He was also a Centaur.

If ever there was a test of my belief, this is it. I slowly nod. "You'll forgive me if it takes a while to process that, Ed."

He frowns, clearly understanding that I am referring not only to Oreius, or their fighting skills, but to their whole spectacular story in general.

I offer him a tight smile, and nod to Peter. "How is he?"

Edmund grimaces. "He'll be fine. Irritated, but fine."

As he looks down at Peter, however, guilt floods his eyes. "I always cause you so much grief," he whispers painfully, kissing his brother's hair, and I'm not entirely sure I'm meant to hear it.

When his eyes return to mine, I have to check a gasp.

Tears stand in their brown depths.

"I need your help, Dad. Pete was right about one thing, I _am_ too small to carry him right now, and I want him in bed."

I do exactly as he asks, without so much as a word.

I'm surprised when Edmund allows me to take Peter from him, even if it is with great reluctance. I try not to think about the fact that if I were one of their sisters, he would have had no qualms about letting me hold his brother.

As I stand, and carefully make my way over to Peter's bed, Edmund is right on my heels. He hovers worriedly over my shoulder when I reach it, eyes a little too sharp as he watches me gently settle Peter on his mattress.

I'm abruptly reminded of his older brother's hovering several nights prior, when Peter watched me re-wrap his ankle.

Shaking my head sadly, I lightly smooth Peter's hair, before turning to Edmund and briefly touching his cheek.

Ed starts, and snaps his dark eyes up to me.

I offer a crooked smile. "Go on. He'll need you tonight, from the sound of it."

He casts me a long glance, gaze all but unreadable, and I have to quash the temptation to squirm. It's unsettling, to say the least.

Then he smiles a bit, and I find myself suddenly relaxing.

I watch as he moves towards the bed—how easily he slips underneath the covers beside his brother. It seems like the most natural thing in the world for him to do. My own brother, while affectionate, would never have done such a thing.

When he curls his body so very carefully around Peter's, I feel my heart give a sharp pang and tears prick at the corners of my eyes.

Michael most _certainly_ never did this.

At that moment, Peter stirs against Edmund, and my younger son tenses. Yet, when he takes in a deep breath, and blinks his eyes open, it is not irritation or anger that fills them.

It takes a few seconds, but when Peter registers the fact that Edmund is literally wrapped around him, his blue eyes grow overly bright, and he promptly buries his face in Ed's shoulder.

Edmund squeezes his eyes shut, and presses his own face into Peter's hair. "You imbecile," he chokes, and I am abruptly very aware that I _have_ no place here.

_Tbc._

_**Footnote:**_ Er, yeah…did not expect this to get so angsty and depressing :sheepishly rubs head:. At any rate, the next chapter is in Peter's P.O.V. and immediately follows this one. So hopefully there will be some sort of closure for Mr. Pevensie, hmm? :winks: Thanks for reading!


	15. Essential Reality

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C.S. Lewis.

_**Author's Note:**_ Just to warn you, you'll probably want to have a set of tissues handy when you read this (and a ton of fluffy fic to read afterwards). I'm serious. I can't believe I wrote such a dark, convoluted, emotional chapter (and enjoyed it thoroughly, I'm afraid :winks:). Please enjoy…and give me a five minute head start.

_**Rating:**_ T/M (for difficult issues)

_**Summary:**_ What do you do when you've lived two lifetimes? What do you do when you fall in love with one life and can never go back? Or so you think...Book and Moviebased

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

_Nighttime Demons_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Fifteen: Essential Reality  
_

(Immediately Following, Peter's P.O.V.)

Ed has always been steadfast in his loyalty to me. After Narnia, during Narnia, before it, even—until Mum shuttled him off to that awful boarding school, at least.

And, as he once announced during a fever-induced delirium, he loves me with every fiber of his being.

It is when he gets like this, when he feels ridiculously guilty and becomes annoyingly overprotective, that I know how much he means it. The very fact that he is breathing, living, _warm_ is more than enough for me. But he loves me, he's _here_…I can't explain it any better than that. It just _is_…and that's all right.

Too often in this world people don't understand that. Or else it takes them a frightfully long time to learn it. We were blessed with parents—and friends, in the form of the Professor, Aunt Polly, Eustace, and Jill—who are more clear-sighted than most.

But even our parents had to hear of Aslan and Narnia from the Professor first before they could begin to understand us—Ed, Lu, Susan, and me. I'm not sure if they ever will completely…because they haven't _been_ there, they haven't actually _met_ Him. They don't know—and perhaps never will—what it's like for us, twenty-and-thirty-year-olds trapped in teenagers' bodies; kings and queens, masquerading as school children and University students.

And I doubt they can imagine what it means for me to have Edmund here—_alive_, soothing the aches and the pains and the fears I've never quite managed to forget.

I know I'm gasping, crying, perhaps even crushing Ed, as I push into his chest, but he welcomes me as he always has, open and giving and everything I love so dearly about him—snarky and sarcastic and sweet all rolled into one. I know he'd kill me if he could hear that, but that's him and he will never change.

"Pete…" his voice catches as he pulls only far enough away to look me in the eye. His hand shakes slightly as it brushes through my hair and smoothes along the side of my face. He hates pulling rank on me (and likes it even less when I pull it on him), especially when he honestly _is_ too small to handle my larger frame: "Are you…are you all right?" his breathing hitches. "I'm sorry. I only meant--"

Lion alive, is it any wonder _why_ I love him as I do?

I nuzzle his cheek, smiling through tears. "Idiot. I know _exactly_ what you meant to do."

He grins reluctantly, kissing my nose (which I promptly scrunch up in mock-dismay). "Fine, all-knowing one," he teases, "perhaps you can tell me if you _will_ be all right…"

God. _Ed_…

I take a deep breath, bumping my nose against his. "I think you know the answer to that," I whisper.

Predictably enough, his cheeks color.

"So different…"

The murmured remark cuts off any retort Edmund might have made and both of us jump.

"S-Sorry?" I stammer, twisting to face the direction it came from. When did _Dad_ get here?

He gazes back at me where he sits on the edge of the bed, eyes all but unreadable. Stormy. "You…you and your brother…you're so _different_ from your Uncle Michael and I. We're nothing like the two of you."

It's no longer important how he got here or when; Dad needs to hear this from me and no one else. I blow out a long breath and smile sadly at him. "No, how could you be?" Dad frowns, bewildered and a little hurt. I shift to curl up against Edmund again—who seems to know where I'm going with this and tightens his grip on me. I draw in another breath and steel myself—I'm going to need Ed to stay with me for a week after I'm through. "You've not had to watch him die—the Professor said dy_ing_ to spare Mum, but Ed died, Dad, actually _died_, on that battlefield. Whether you believe us about Narnia or not is beside the point—the point is, I _lost_ him. You can say it was only for a moment, but _God_…" Scratch a week—I'm going to need him there for a month. At _least_. "It was a million eternities for me."

When Edmund starts gently rubbing my back, I shut my eyes tightly and press my forehead back against his shoulder. He starts hushing me as tears continue to leak out of my eyes.

My voice garbles as I force myself to continue talking, "I doubt you've ever held Uncle Michael as he bled out. More, that you've held him six dozen times after that, in frighteningly similar situations. You think watching comrades die is hard--" I snap my eyes open and look straight at Dad, "Sweet Lion, it's not much better—this…this is worse." My voice cracks, "Part of my soul is ripped out each time it happens."

From above me, I hear Edmund's breathing speed up. He turns his face into my neck and will not say anything. His cheeks are wet, but I know very well that it's not just because mine are.

I wait until we can both collect ourselves. I've never told him that for precisely this reason; I hate it when he cries—it _hurts_.

Soon enough, he draws himself together, and seeing that, _I'm_ able to calm down. "Go on, Peter. I—I'm fine. _Really_."

Bloody mule, he'll never say any different. "I somehow doubt that, Ed," I sigh, "but never mind."

He pulls away long enough to make a face at me, and then promptly buries it back against my neck.

I chuckle softly and shift to clasp his head in place with a hand on the back of his neck.

I notice then that Dad has been watching us. He's never looked so pained in my entire memory and I have to hide my own face in Ed's hair a minute in order to gather myself for this. I take a deep breath and raise my head to look him directly in the eye: "I'm sorry, Dad."

Edmund stiffens against me and I hold him firmly in place. The noise he makes is unhappy, but I don't let him up; he's less likely to spring to my defense that way. "But you have to understand, I've been a part of their lives—like _that_—for over twenty years. I've had to, Dad, don't you see? They _needed_ that…and I was in a position to give it."

Edmund lightly thumps my chest. "Let me up, Peter," his muffled voice complains.

I grin at Dad—who's startled enough to give me a faint smile in return—and do.

My brother's head pops up and he scowls half-heartedly at me. "Git," he grumbles—then turns to Dad. "Don't listen to him. He doesn't know what he's saying."

I harrumph, but Ed silences me with a look. His eyes are more serious than I've ever seen them. "There was too much love in him not to," he completes softly.

I feel my face heat up. "Ed…" I murmur.

Wretch. He merely smirks warmly at me. "It's pointless to object, you know. Lu, and probably even Susan, will back me up in a heartbeat."

That's my darling baby brother, blunt and to the point. Oh, yes, and ridiculously loyal to me. "Shall I tell him what _you_ did?"

Ed turns serious again. "Only if you think you're able to." He sets his jaw. "Only if you let me stay with you."

I hold out my arm for him. "Well, get over here, then."

Edmund curls around me. But instead of resting his head on my chest as I expect him to, he shifts so that _my_ head falls onto _his_ chest. "No objections, Peter," he chastises me softly, voice firm, rearranging his arms to hold me in place.

I roll my eyes fondly at him, "I wasn't going to," moving my head just long enough to put my hand over his heart and then rest it back against his chest.

"Peter?" Dad's voice is quiet and his face very still as he watches us. I'm not sure he wants to hear this anymore than I want to tell it, but without it, he'll never understand _why_ things changed so much between Ed and I.

My next breath is not quite as steady. "I told you Ed died. I didn't tell you why."

"Peter--!" Edmund bursts out.

/Should have predicted that./ "Be _quiet_, Edmund!"

He frowns, but hushes.

I soften my voice. "Please. Let me tell it my way."

He huffs and grumbles a little, muttering incomprehensible phrases into my hair—although I can guess a few, mainly revolving around my…how did he put it? "Irritatingly persistent guilt complex."

I force a grin. "I'll take that as a 'yes.'"

He groans. Loudly. And lightly swats my shoulder. "Fine. But the moment it gets to be too much—or you start crying—I'm stopping you."

In spite of myself, I smirk. "Yes, Your Majesty."

Edmund sighs. "_Peter_…"

"Oh, all _right_…" I bury my head in his chest. My grip on his nightshirt tightens. "Just…stay here, will you? I'm…not sure how long I can handle this."

The sigh he gives this time is half tender exasperation, half worried amusement. I feel him catch a few strands of hair that have fallen to brush against my cheek and tuck them away gently behind my ear. "As if I'm _going_ anywhere."

"Good. Don't. For a very long time."

The amusement shines out all the more clearly in his voice. "Pete, we're never going to get through this if you don't start talking soon."

"Talking? I've _been_ talking."

"Yes. In circles," he's definitely amused now. But he knows exactly how much I'm looking forward to this little talk and Aslan bless him for allowing me to ease into it. Ed gives me a light jostle. "Come on, Pete. This isn't going to be easy for either one of us, and the sooner you finish, the sooner I get to lambaste you for even _thinking_ what happened was in any way your fault."

"If I had only--!"

"Perhaps I can be of help?"

Dad's quiet voice cuts through what surely would have been a self-deprecating tirade (on my part) and an equally self-deprecating tirade on Edmund's part.

I raise my head. Edmund glances at him. We both notice that a sudden, odd sort of change has come over his face.

He's tired. I think we all are. He's hurt. But Ed and I have reopened too long stifled wounds by bringing all this out into the open, and we ache almost as much.

What matters now is what has, without either of us noticing, crept into Dad's eyes—there's resignation there, yes. Pain, sure. But there's also just the slightest hint of understanding.

I don't know what has put it there over the course of the past…half hour or more, but Dad must have found something he could latch onto, and begun to figure it out from there.

I nod.

"Professor Kirke explained your 'Battle of Beruna.' Not the one with your friend—Caspian was it? I mean your first one, the one you were talking about on the front porch several days ago." He sighs. "I know what happened there, with Ed. But I suspect what the Professor told your mother and I wasn't the entire story…was it?"

I swallow…and shake my head. "Ed wasn't so much trying to redeem himself as he was trying to protect me." I smile humorlessly. "I'm not sure it even crossed his mind, actually. Although, certainly, what he did that day—and every day following it—redeemed him ten thousand times over in the eyes of Narnia." I pause, and brush the back of my fingers against Edmund's cheek, smiling weakly at him when he looks at me. "He'd already redeemed himself in my eyes, by then. And in Susan's and Lucy's eyes, too. Of course, he didn't realize that. Or refused to believe it, more like. Well," I swallow again, "there came a point where we were losing—_badly_. I didn't know Aslan and the girls were on their way with reinforcements. I just knew I didn't want Ed there, in that mess, and wanted the girls out of Narnia, too—I fully expected to die." The breath I take trembles, "Ed, of course, wouldn't leave me. I didn't realize that at the time. If I had...I—I would have done something. I don't know what, and it probably wouldn't have even worked, but…" I'm going to start crying, there's no question about it. And Edmund isn't making it any easier by murmuring soothing nonsense into my hair and pressing kisses to my face. My last thread of control snaps: "Edmund died because of _me_. The Witch was aiming _for me_. He sacrificed himself _for_ _me_. And I…" God, I'm gone. "And I--"

"That's _enough_!" Edmund grabs my shoulders, shoving me upright to look straight into my eyes. I'm crying too hard to notice. "Damn it, Pete…_yes_, I died. Yes, I died _for you_. But you're delusional if you think you actually _killed_ me. You know _jolly _well the Witch did! I was just too sodding slow to avoid her wand and sword!"

"You shouldn't have even _been_ on that battlefield, Ed! I never should have--"

"You know _damn _well I would never have forgiven you if you had forbidden me to fight, Peter!"

"_You weren't supposed to die, Edmund!"_

His response shuts me up: "Neither were you," quiet.

_Tbc._

_**Footnote:**_ Um…:clasps hands above head: please don't kill me! This chapter went—like most chapters I write often do—in a completely different direction than I expected it to when I started. Last chapter, and these next several chapters, are key in this story, and well, they're angsty and messy and emotional to match it. Er…if I promise to get the next chapter out as soon as I finish it will you let me live? :puppy-dog eyes:


	16. Difficult Truth

**WARNING:** This is edgy—please be aware of that. Edgy, emotional, _messy_…it was a difficult chapter to write, and not just because my Writer's Block seemed to be having a field day. Please keep in mind—this chapter is rated M, for thematic issues.

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C. S. Lewis and Walden Media.

_**Reviewers:**_ Thank you! I know how impatient you must be for me to finish this. I can tell you now, that won't happen for a while. I'm unsnarling knots as I go, but it might be a while before you see another chapter of this story from me. I know this chapter is incredibly short, but whatever else I tried to work into it simply would not fit—I'm planning on spreading it out over the next couple of chapters or so, and hopefully I'll make some progress! Thank you so much for your patience and I hope you enjoy this chapter, short as it is!

_**P. S.:**_ Please note, depending on the direction my other chapters go this may or may not be changed.

_**Rating:**_ M (thematic issues)

_**Summary:**_ When Colin Pevensie returns from war, things are not as he left them, particularly not between his two sons...(Brotherfic) (Book and Moviebased) (_NO _Slash)

"_**Speech"**_

_**Personal Thoughts (Italics)**_

_Nighttime Demons_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Sixteen: Difficult Truth_

(Clacton-on-Sea, Colin Pevensie's P.O.V.)

I am horrified. Too horrified to even think clearly, let alone process what Edmund has just said. "What?" I choke. It's barely there, but both my boys jerk in startlement, apparently having forgotten I am even in the room.

Peter? _Peter _almost died? And Edmund…Good Lord, if he nearly got himself killed once trying to protect his brother…

My face pales.

_What has happened to my children?_

They speak so…knowledgably…about death. I hesitate to say easily. It is eminently clear that even the mere thought of it—at least in regard to one another—tears their souls to shreds.

My voice shakes: "How many times?"

Peter swallows and closes his eyes, tears wending their way down his cheeks. Edmund looks away, squeezing his tightly shut. A tremor wracks his shoulders.

I have my answer. Too many to count…far too much to remember.

I swallow. "And you…you've not…you haven't…"

My boys are good lads. Strong men. Capable. Virtuous. But even the most virtuous of men can have a breaking point. I've seen it, in the trenches, and in the aftermath of battle. I hope to heaven my sons have never reached such a breaking point, but...

Edmund's response is loud as he whips around to face me, "NO!" he cries, more than a little flustered. Peter jumps. His younger brother's cheeks are faintly pink, but he lowers his voice, "No, I mean…yes, we've kissed, but not…"

Peter has caught on, and he shakes his head rather vigorously, his own cheeks slightly more red than his brother's as he completes Edmund's statement, "Not with the emotion you're thinking of. Not in that way. If we ever needed…physical reassurance…" Uncomfortably, he trails off, but after a moment picks up again as his voice softens, "We always knew we could find each other back at our tent. That's mostly why we kept sharing a bed, you know." As I watch, Peter reaches out to press his hand to Edmund's chest and his eyes are no longer focused on me, "It made it so much easier to hear his heartbeat."

I feel my own eyes begin to tear up, particularly when my youngest son tightly grips his older brother's hand to keep it in place. What my boys have between them…this is something I have never seen. My own brother would have blanched were we to find ourselves in a similar situation. Particularly because we are grown men.

But my sons…if I am to believe what Professor Kirke says then they are technically thirty-three and thirty respectively. They appear to care little for what society thinks, what even _I _think. At this moment, I suspect, all that matters is each other.

Little wonder, then, that I find this situation half-amusing, half-heartbreaking. When I left, my boys had so much hurt between them. I had thought the days of finding them in each other's beds the next morning—even when Peter had insisted the night prior that he would return Edmund to his own bed—were well-neigh over.

I used to laugh when I found them that way. Even if they were honestly getting too old to share the same bed.

But now…to hear this, to _see _this…can you blame me for wanting to do something—_anything_—to bring back some semblance of normality to this conversation?

I manage a rather strangled chuckle. "And to think, you _still_ share the same bed, even though you're eighteen and he's fifteen."

Peter gives me a wan grin, finally looking away from his brother's dark eyes. "Blame Oreius. It happened so much that one day he suggested merely packing a single hammock, since we'd probably end up in the same one, anyway. Our valets threw a fit, of course."

Edmund snorts thickly. "Of course."

There is a slightly wider and stronger grin from my eldest. "Careful there, Ed. You might choke on a windpipe."

Edmund scowls and proceeds to pummel his older brother's arm. "_Ow_. Hey!" Peter protests around a watery laugh, releasing Ed's hand in order to ward off his assault.

His younger brother merely continues scowling. "Git," he grumbles.

Peter offers him a small smirk, but when he turns back to me, he is once again serious. "We stopped doing it for a while, because…well, we just did, is all." Peter's eyes have darkened and he shrugs, tightening his arm around his little brother's back and gazing straight ahead at some demon only he can see.

Edmund is watching him thoughtfully, and I find myself holding my breath. There is something in my youngest son's expression that tells me whatever he is about to say next has been hidden for many years (at least in my children's perception). "No, we didn't, actually," he remarks finally, voice soft.

Peter blinks, and then stares at him, expression incredulous. "Ed?"

It is Edmund's turn to shrug as he turns away shyly, cheeks slightly pink. "You remember, just after Lucy had got into Narnia a second time? You fell asleep on my bed after you and Su had gone to speak with the Professor about Lucy's "imaginary" country."

By the slight widening of his eyes, I can see Peter does remember. The emotion that flushes his cheeks then causes my heart to ache. "You…you knew?" it is asked hoarsely. "How could…I woke up before you did!"

There is a wistful smirk from his brother. "Apparently, not early enough. Or did you really think you wrapped yourself in that blanket, Peter?"

Peter doesn't seem to know what to say. Edmund shrugs again, sadly. "You looked like you were cold," he offered simply.

For the second time tonight, there are tears in Peter's eyes. I know I should say something—he is eighteen, after all, but…

Edmund lays his hand on his brother's arm and his eyes never waver. "You have to understand, Pete…even when I tried _not_ to love you, it was impossible. You were too good, and we had been too close, and although it sometimes hurt—and although I know there were countless times you were hurt by me—I couldn't ever bring myself to hate you. Not even remotely close."

Peter's breathing hitches and he immediately shuts his eyes. Just by watching his face I know his head must be spinning.

"Peter?" I can hear Edmund's voice quaver and a glance at his hand reveals it is trembling.

"Ed," his nickname is a gasp so thick I can barely make it out.

When Peter opens his eyes and presses his lips into a thin line—apparently to keep them from trembling—Edmund sputters out a half-strangled laugh.

I'm not sure they noticed it when I left.

_Tbc._


	17. Haunted

**WARNING: **Tissue alert--you may also want a cuddly stuffed animal.

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C. S. Lewis and Walden Media.

_**Reviewers:**_ Hi, everyone! ::waves ecstatically:: I've finally finished this particular chapter up and it is ready to be posted. As you may or may not be able to tell ::laughs softly:: this is one of my favorites, however short it is. I should also warn you that I think this story may be finally winding down—oh, don't worry ::grins:: it's not for another several chapters, yet, but I think it's finally coming to an end. I have a few loose ends to tie up (not to mention some scenes I'd _really_ like to get in here) and then it will be finished. Thank you for sticking with me, and I hope you enjoy this next chapter!

_**Rating:**_ T

_**Summary:**_ When Colin Pevensie returns from war, things are not as he left them, particularly not between his two sons...(Brotherfic) (Book and Moviebased) (_NO _Slash)

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

_Nighttime Demons_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Seventeen: Haunted_

(Clacton-on-Sea, Edmund's P.O.V.)

The wind—which, truthfully, has been rattling the cottage shutters all evening—picks up when Dad leaves, the door clicking quietly shut behind him. The lonely, howling wail causes gooseflesh to creep up my arms and I shiver—it sounds a little too much like Wolves.

Carefully, I untangle myself from my brother. He makes a surprised sound at the back of his throat as I gently push him down on the sheets and kiss his forehead, turning towards the window where he has (most likely) been sitting the entire night. The candle Peter has placed there flickers and gutters wildly in the wind that whistles through the cracks.

Next to me, my brother struggles back into a sitting position, clearly at a loss as to what I'm doing. He leans heavily on the pile of pillows behind him with one arm as I move to slip my feet off the bed: "Ed?" he asks, voice hushed and slightly tight.

I push him back down. "Hush, Pete. I'll be back in a moment."

When he sits up again, I fondly roll my eyes, a reluctant grin tugging at my lips as I head towards the window.

/Always so _stubborn_. With a capital "S."/

I honestly will not be surprised if he decides he'd rather not remain in bed and starts to follow me. It even looks like he might—he already has one foot on the ground.

I pause…and have to bite back a laugh when he immediately freezes, looking distinctly sheepish. I had forgotten about this little ritual as well. Whenever we had a particularly bad night—and there were quite a few—inevitably, the next morning, Peter was extremely reluctant to let me out of his sight. For heaven's sake he'd even followed me to the bathing chambers once!

I stifle a laugh at the memory. Though, I suspect I haven't completely quelled it—I can feel him scowling at my back. "It's only a few meters, Peter, I promise."

He huffs softly, and I can't quite conceal a grin when he starts grumbling about annoying baby brothers who are too perceptive for their own good.

"That is why I am the Just, brother dear, and you are the Magnificent," I call quietly over my shoulder, laughing when I receive a muttered, "Just, my arse," in reply.

I'm not laughing when I reach the window. It is pitch black outside; the moon and stars are covered by clouds. We haven't had a storm yet this week, and the weather has been wonderful—sunny, even hot enough for swimming.

Today, though, it's been muggy, and the air heavy and still. During supper sand started lashing against the windows. It made all of us—even Susan—uneasy, for we remembered too well that storms in Narnia did not always promise rainbows in the end.

I wonder what memory Peter was seeing tonight.

"Ed?"

I jump and yelp, spinning to face Peter when he lays a warm hand on my back.

He gives a faint half-smirk, but his blue eyes are a great deal more tired than I like.

Shaking my head, I force a small smile and pick the candle up, lightly pushing him back towards the bed with my free hand. "You're supposed to be in bed," I scold him quietly.

The muscles in his jaw clench. "Not without you."

I pause, and move to cradle the candle between both my palms, squinting up at him. "Pete…?"

Peter's hands tremble as they slide around mine. Shadows flit across his face as he studies my eyes intently. "You know I love you, right?" I jerk in surprise at the anxiety in his whisper. "You know I've _always_ loved you, right?"

Dumbly, I nod. What on earth brought _this _on? Surely he can't believe—

Peter releases a huge breath and drops my hands, nearly collapsing onto the mattress as his knees wobble, rubbing his eyes repeatedly.

I glance at him sharply, gingerly setting the candle and its holder on the nightstand between our beds with a faint _clack_. Kneeling in front of him, I take his hand and gently rub it between my own, posing my response cautiously, "I know this, Peter. You've told me before—you've repeated it a thousand times, in fact. Why bring it up now? You know I've never--"

"Edmund," there's a short, hitched breath from my brother in front of me, "Eddy. What I _never_ knew was that…was that…"

He can't complete his sentence—but he doesn't have to. As his chest shakes with a repressed sob I tightly shut my eyes.

"I'm sorry," my voice is strangled and there is a lump in my throat as I try to speak. It hurts—it always has—when he cries. It hurts even more to know that, this time, I'm the cause of it.

/Has he really thought I _hated_ him? For this long?/

"Oh, Peter," the lump has grown, "I'm so, so sorr--"

His hands cut me off as they gently touch my face, smoothing over my skin. His fingers trace my cheeks and slip through my hair and I find myself blinking back tears as they repeatedly trace paths and contours across my face, apparently in no hurry to stop. When Peter leans forward to brush his lips against my forehead, my entire body goes still.

"Hush, Ed," he whispers roughly, the words ghosting through my hair, "just hush."

I do.

IOIOIOIOIOI

I'm not for sure how long we stay like that. It seems like hours, truthfully. His chest and body are warm when he bundles me into his arms, and I am not ashamed to admit that he isn't the only one with tears on his cheeks. His heartbeat thumps steadily under my ear and I reflect quietly that he was absolutely right when he gave our explanation for still sleeping together to Dad.

It is not easy to forget the horrors we faced as Kings of a country—and that, often side by side. For so many years—too many years—Peter's blood (and my sisters' blood, but I usually try to forget that) has painted my darkest, most horrific nightmares. I know with absolute, heartbreaking certainty that Peter is the same. So to find ourselves right next to each other, able to touch, hear, and feel each other's very much real and very much _alive_ bodies, is the best (and often the only) cure.

I know it makes people talk, but frankly, I do not give two-pence what _they_ think. I'd established long ago that my siblings were my priority. It took a Witch and a wand through my stomach, but I learned it, and have not forgotten it since.

I sigh softly to myself. /Of course, Pete also learned a new depth of fear that day, and he was already overprotective to begin with. I couldn't see it until then, of course./

"We should have gone through this sooner," I finally whisper, leaning my head into his chest.

My answer is an exhausted, watery chuckle from my brother above me. "Like twenty years sooner," he mutters fondly, brushing his fingers through my hair as he has been for at least the past half-hour, before cradling my head to his chest.

I find myself blinking back more tears as he gathers me into his lap, seemingly intent on not letting go of me anytime soon. "Yes, well, learning how to properly run a kingdom is rather a taxing enterprise," I murmur, delicately trying to extract myself without making it look like I am. I _am_ thirty—er, fifteen, after all, and he _does_ need his rest, of which he'll get none if he's cuddling—um, coddling me.

I keep speaking as we situate ourselves, more than ready to end this emotional gauntlet for the evening, "Then there was the not so small matter of a certain _Lion_, who happens to have a fondness for cryptic messages."

The snort this time is more a laugh than anything and I blink, suddenly finding myself trying to glare hazily at Peter, who has propped himself up on one arm and is now running his index finger gently along my cheek. I cannot see the expression on his face in the barely-there sliver of moonlight, but knowing my brother—and all too aware of the way my cheeks are burning—I'm sure it is embarrassingly tender.

"You're a brick, Ed," he murmurs.

I groan and roll into his side, knocking him onto his back and eliciting another soft round of laughter. "Just go to sleep, Peter," I grumble, burying my (I'm sure) very red face in his shoulder. "I'm right here."

He huffs a final, quiet laugh, and curls himself against my chest.

I can't help praying that maybe now his nightmares will be put to rest.

_Tbc._


	18. Not Children

**WARNING:** Possible tissue alert.

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C. S. Lewis and Walden Media.

_**Reviewers:**_ Well…::rubs head sheepishly:: it's been a while. A very long while—getting a job sort of relegated my fan fiction writing to breaks and weekends (and even then, not much time is available). I do love my job, so I'm not complaining ::grins::. I also sort of became obsessed with _How to Train Your Dragon_ (still am), but with _VoDT_ released I'm definitely in the mood for some brotherfic, even though Lucy's the narrator for this one ::grins again::. I am also planning to completely revise _Nighttime Demons_ after I finish it, and then continue a few of my other Narnia fics when I get the chance—so keep an eye out! All _457_ of my reviewers, thank you!

_**Rating:**_ T

_**Summary:**_ When Colin Pevensie returns from war, things are not as he left them, particularly not between his two sons...(Brotherfic) (Book and Moviebased) (_NO _Slash)

"_**Speech"**_

_**/Personal Thoughts/**_

_Nighttime Demons_

_By Sentimental Star_

_Chapter Eighteen: Not-Children_

(Early Morning, Clacton-on-Sea, Lucy's P.O.V.)

Rain wakes me, not sun: rain splattering against the windows and shutters rattling in the wind.

I groan, rolling over to bury my face in my pillow.

In Narnia, I always woke with the sun. I hated sleeping in—too much to do and find and explore! My room faced East, so I was always the first one up. Peter had never been a morning person, and neither was Ed, for that matter. Susan always woke with me so I wouldn't eat breakfast alone (but I never really _was_ alone; there was always a Finch, a Fox, or a Rabbit happy to join me with a cup of tea).

Here…it is reversed. Ed wakes with me and Susan sleeps in—usually because she is out late at parties. There are no Finches or Foxes or Rabbits here that can talk; and in the absence of Peter when he is off at University, Edmund is reluctant to sleep in longer than he needs to.

I do not entirely understand it, but I suspect he often gets lonely. Peter has been his best friend for years. I know he loves Susan and I, but Peter…Peter is special. I can freely admit to being jealous—Susan and I used to be like that, too. We aren't anymore.

I had hope. I really did. Four days ago she really seemed like she was coming back—to us, to Narnia, to Aslan. Maybe I was too cautious. Maybe I should have let Edmund and Peter talk about Narnia with her, like they wanted to. But I did not want to see the smile leave her face.

I am always too cautious when it comes to Susan—I do not know her like I used to, and it hurts. Especially when I see how close Peter and Edmund are still.

I shake my head, rolling over onto my back to stare up at the gray light dappling the ceiling.

Even though Susan brought me up here at half-past eleven last night, neither of us got much sleep. She stared at the wall for two hours straight and I spent all that time trying to get her to tell me what was wrong.

It didn't work.

Eventually, she went to sleep. I didn't—ever only dozing: too many thoughts going through my head, too much to worry about—and it wasn't just Susan.

My brothers must have had at least as rough a night as we did. Probably rougher, knowing the two of them. Not only did Daddy hear out the full story of Beruna (albeit, edited to prevent Mum from panicking), but there were Peter's sleepless nights to worry about _on top of_ _that_.

Edmund would not have let them continue even an hour longer, and his methods of dealing with a sleepless Peter…weren't exactly healthy for either of them.

Ed must have made himself sick with worry.

Rolling over onto my stomach, I push myself up and sit, sliding my feet into my slippers. A glance across the space between our two beds reveals that Susan is still soundly asleep. Once upon a time she would have wanted me to wake her—after a particularly bad night, neither of us liked leaving our brothers alone for very long. There was too much potential for something serious to have happened. But this Susan…I am not sure such a worry has even crossed her mind.

"Susan." I lean forward to lightly shake her shoulder. "Su..."

"Wha-wha…" Yawn and slow blink, "Lucy?" Another yawn, and eyes halfway open, "Lucy, darling…what," she yawns again, "what is it?"

I bite my lip, worrying it. She hardly seems aware that I am even awake. "Su…I'm worried about Ed and Peter. Don't you suppose we ought to check on them? You know how they are. In Narnia they-"

Susan yawns again and rolls over, shutting her eyes and pulling the blankets over her head. "Oh, that's n-nice…nice that you still remember (yawn)…remember those games…" She closes her eyes completely and trails off, falling asleep.

…

I can't say anything, just stare at her back as it gently rises and falls.

Games? She thinks of Narnia as a _game_? But…

I shake my head vigorously, blinking back sudden tears and sudden heat.

/She's more than half-asleep. She doesn't really mean that. She _can't_…!/

I don't try to wake her up again.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Dressing in my robe and going out into the hall, I find Daddy sleeping outside, in front of the boys' room. He looks very uncomfortable, scrunched up in the corner like that, with his arms wrapped tightly around his body to ward off the chill.

He also looks terribly young.

I know it's silly of me to think that—he can't be much older than I am. Really am, I mean. He and Mummy got married very young.

I reach out and gently shake his shoulder. "Daddy, why are you sleeping out here?" I shake it again, a little harder, "Daddy…?"

His eyes snap open and he starts, jerking forward.

I've woken Peter and Edmund out of a dead sleep enough times to know that I should steer well clear of men who have been on a battlefield, especially when they just wake. It proves fortuitous when he very nearly grabs me in a sleeper hold.

When he realizes what he has almost done, Daddy stares at me, horrified.

I smile at him. "Daddy, what are you doing out here? Isn't Mummy going to start looking for you?"

He blushes, and though he tries to hide it, I know he is completely thrown by how calmly I've spoken to him. "N-Nothing, darling. Guarding against nightmares."

I intently study him: his blue eyes (just like Peter's) are tired, the circles under them dark. He looks like he's gotten even less sleep than I have. "Yours…or theirs?"

Daddy gapes at me.

My smile dims slightly, "I understand, Daddy."

And I really do. Five years after he has gone to war (a war where you can't even look into your opponent's eyes as you kill them and acknowledge what you've taken), he returns to us, only to find not-children in the place where _his_ children once were. Not-children who have grown so old and grown so old _together_ that they don't really need him anymore.

I don't know what I can say…or do…to make him think otherwise.

Daddy sighs and shifts restlessly where he sits. "_I_ don't. But I'm beginning to believe that will be a constant state of being when I'm around the four of you." He shakes his head, "What are you doing up, sweetheart? We were all up late and it's not even half-past five, yet."

He's floundering. He doesn't know what to say. It's all too clear: the way his eyes dart, the way his hands can't keep still…

/Oh, Daddy…I'm so sorry…/

I shrug, and try to keep smiling. "I'm worried. Peter's not been sleeping well…and _his_ moods usually affect Edmund's. I wanted to check on them."

Daddy sighs again, heavily, "Ed forced Peter into bed not long ago. I doubt they'll be up before noon."

I wince. /Lion's Teeth, Roar, and Mane, I bet _that_ wasn't pleasant…for _any_ of them./

I glance at Daddy. He looks mildly disturbed. I smile sadly.

Any father would be upset, seeing their sons interact on such a level and in such a way. Fortunately, Daddy isn't like other fathers. Even if he doesn't understand—and may never—at least he loves us enough to accept us for who we are, as strange a brood as this family has turned out to be.

Aslan has truly blessed us ten times over.

"I know it seems impossible, Daddy," I squeeze his arm, "but they've been taking care of each other for over twenty years. We all have, really. Ed knows what he's doing. Trust me."

Daddy sighs and covers my hand, patting it gently, before standing up, "I do, sweetheart."

_I do_.

IOIOIOIOIOI

"You are very good at that."

Daddy's voice breaks through the quiet of Peter's and Edmund's room and sound of their even breathing as they sleep. Finally. Both of them.

And in the same bed.

I sigh, straightening up after tucking a strand of Peter's blond hair behind his ear and kissing Edmund's cheek.

If their positions are anything to go by, I was right in my assumption that they had had a rough night. They are literally tangled up in each other, and do not seem to be in any hurry to move anytime soon.

I turn around to face my father. "I was the Healer, Daddy." When Edmund sighs in his sleep and turns to bury his face more comfortably against Peter's shoulder, I smile fondly. "I know which medicines they need and how best to heal them. I know how they react when they can't sense each other," my smile falls, "and I have sometimes had to stop one of them from coming into the healing wing because it is too dangerous for the other. Beruna wasn't the only battle, Daddy, nor was it only battles that I had to heal them from. Training accidents, sickness…we spent the majority of our lives in Narnia," I reach out to touch each of my brothers' faces, "of course we are going to be different."

Daddy stands in the threshold of the boys' room. When I look up at him, his shoulders slump and he leans heavily against the doorway, looking so very tired. "I know, darling. I wouldn't have expected you to be otherwise after that. It's just…hard. I remember them how they were…and then I see them how they are now." He shakes his head, "They are so starkly different—you _all_ are so starkly different—I no longer know how to approach you."

I walk over to him and place my hand on his arm, trying to smile for his sake. "Treat us as you always have. We'll tell you what we need along the way."

There is a creak across the hallway. My parents' door swings open to reveal a half-asleep Mum.

She yawns, watching us with bleary eyes, "Colin? Lucy? Darlings, what are you doing up…and at this hour?"

Daddy glances over my shoulder into the boys' room, expression so forlorn that I have to quickly scrub my hand across my face to prevent my tears from falling.

I lightly jostle his arm. "They'll be fine, Daddy. They have each other."

He looks at me plaintively. "I don't understand."

It's such a child-like appeal. He would never had said it—or in such a way—if he had been more awake. Mum glances between us curiously, still more than half-asleep.

I smile sadly. "Not many do. I think the best way to describe it is that they complete each other. Well…actually…the _four_ of us needed to keep that balance in Narnia, in order to break the Witch's spell and end the Hundred Year Winter. Aslan chose us four, and four…we need to remain, if we have any hope of fulfilling what He wishes us to here."

"Lucy…" Daddy's shoulders fall even further, "you are only children—you _were_ only children. How could He even _expect_…shouldn't adults have taken care of it?"

My smile goes crooked. I know he doesn't want to hear this, but it is the best answer I can give, "You _will_ understand when you meet Him. I promise."

_Tbc_.


End file.
